How to Get a Girlfriend
by IceCreamGurl6455
Summary: Everyone knows how Steph became popular with the help of her Book. But while Steph was working to snag Mark Finley, Jason had the help of his very own Book . . . How to Get a Girlfriend. This the story of how Jason Hollenbach escaped the friend-zone, impressed the girl next door, and won Steph Landry's heart.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the book "How to be Popular" by Meg Cabot, nor will I ever. I do not own any characters or settings you recognize, and I do not profit from this in any way. "How to Get a Girlfriend" is a story written by me (IceCreamGurl6455), purely for my own entertainment and the entertainment of others. No part of this story can be duplicated, quoted, or replicated without my permission and proper citation. Thank you for understanding the terms on which this story was and continues to be written. I appreciate your time and thank you in advance for complying by my personal standards, rules, and international laws.

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**GIRLFRIEND**: n. A female partner in a romantic relationship.

Love.

The feeling that keeps us human. The thing that either causes eternal bliss or perpetual pain. And, even though we know it is taking a gamble, we can't seem to help loving someone.

Unfortunately, not all of us are lucky.

So what can we do about it?

Well, to love, you must understand what it is. There are two types of love: platonic and romantic. Platonic is how you love your grandma, or your dog. Romantic is how you love your girlfriend or boyfriend.

Or rather, how you would, if you had one.

In romantic love, there are two sub-categories, requited and unrequited love. Requited is how a person gets a date, and unrequited is pining after one who does not love you back.

So what does this have to do with your love life?

You'll find that most people who end up with someone they love are:

* Confident  
* Honest  
* Helpful  
* Supportive  
* Caring

These kinds of people aren't born with superpowers. They've worked hard to find true love and happiness. . .

. . .and you can, too, by following the tips in this book!

* * *

**Chapter One**

"Next customer."

Oh, man, oh, man, oh, man, this has _got_ to be the _stupidest _thing I have ever done. I mean, buying a book called _How to Get a Girlfriend_? Already seems suspicious enough, not to mention desperate and hopeless. But buying that book at a bookstore that the girl you hope to get as said girlfriend works at? Full out idiot. Add in the fact that her family _owned _the store, and you can see why I didn't move.

"Next customer!"

I already knew the way Darren was. He hated waiting for customers, and usually mocked them at the register. The way he saw it, if they were rude to him, he would be rude to them. Never mind the fact that he was supposed to be nice to the people who kept Courthouse Square Books in business, as opposed to chasing them away. Honestly, I think Darren is great. He's hilarious, and you can actually have a man to man talk with him.

So why was I sweating like I had just run the mile in gym?

"Next customer. Only customer in line. Person in the dark hoodie with the hood up and the gangster shades. Come on, who do you think you are, an impersonation of every stereotypical criminal on TV? Move on, buddy, walk the five feet it takes to get to the register and Check. Out. Already."

I heard Steph's mom call from the back, "Professional tone, Darren, goes a long way."

Steph's mom. Extremely pregnant Steph's mom. The mother of Stephanie Landry. A creator of the reason I was here, at Courthouse Square Books, buying this guide in the first place. Would I really be doing myself any favors if she came out and saw me and what book I was holding?

No. I would most likely get the sympathy vote, followed by the "Honey, you don't need to be in a relationship to be happy" talk, and then Steph would get the "Jason thinks he needs a girlfriend to be happy" speech, leading to a very awkward "Jason...what the heck?" conversation.

So I stepped up the counter. Darren took the book, rang it up, and bagged it, saying as he did, "So, this whole getup...just a phase, or a lifestyle choice?"

"None of your business," I snapped, trying to make my voice sound tough and macho. I failed miserably.

Darren cracked up. I think I may have seen a tear fall. "Your total is $9.53," he choked out. I tossed him a ten, grabbed the bag, and waited not-so-patiently for my change. Darren counted and recounted, to make sure I was getting the right amount. I stuck my hand out for the money, but he tutted and read from the notecard Steph had printed up for him.

"Thanks-so-much-for-shopping-at-Courthouse-Square-Books-have-a-nice-day," he said quickly, all in one breath, while handing me a quarter and two dimes.

"You owe me two cents," I said. Darren took them out of the Give a Penny/Take a Penny jar.

"Next time you come in here, buy a better attitude, too!" he yelled as I left. I started running and didn't stop until I was a full three blocks away, ripping the shades off and pulling the hood down in the process. I unlocked the B and got inside, not pausing to turn down the radio.

Great. Just great. I try to go incognito, and what draws less attention than a 70's BMW blasting "Let it Be" while speeding through Courthouse Square? Lauren Moffat, it turns out. She was pulling out of the parking lot next to Old Tommy's Pawn Shop when she saw me. And, apparently, she had never heard of BMW courtesy, because she just rolled her eyes and gave me the "Loser" sign.

Nobody disrespects the B like that. _Nobody_. The only reason I didn't go back and give her a piece of my mind was because, well, she was Lauren Moffat. She wasn't worth the time, aggravation, or gas money I would have wasted. Not to mention the inevitable loss of brain cells.

Basically, Lauren Moffat and I hate each other. Well, more like I hate her and she doesn't know who I am. Due to her constant obsession with humiliating Steph, and by association me, I have been passively aggressively fighting Loose Lauren for years. If she is in my group for a school project, I make sure she gets a lower grade than the rest of us. If she asks me to move, I don't. If I see her at lake, I ignore her.

If Lauren sees me at school (or anywhere else for that matter), she usually ignores me. But if she's hanging around her dumb jock boyfriend, Mark Finley, or some other member of her posse of populars, she makes sure to make a comment about the way I look, dress, sound, walk, or any other number of things she doesn't like about me.

Not that I care.

Truth is, I would completely ignore Lauren if she wasn't such a witch with a capital B to Steph. But it doesn't seem like that's going to change soon. Or ever.

The real kicker, though, is that her father owns Bloomville's only BMW dealership.

Evil people shouldn't be rich or drive BMWs. It's completely disrespectful to the cars.

I pulled The B into my driveway and turned her off, cutting off "Lola" mid-chorus. I was running late for meeting up with Steph and Becca, her friend from fifth grade who had replaced me while we were in a huge fight, at the bookstore. Would it have been less costly and more practical to just stay close to Courthouse Square instead of coming home? Yes. But did I have a perfectly legitimate reason for coming home? Yes.

After Steph got off the late shift at the store, the four of us- Steph, Becca, The B, and I- were going to, for the first night ever, cruise up and down Main Street as we have longed to do for so many years. And I couldn't risk either of them finding The Book.

It was too important. The Book was my ticket to winning Steph over.

* * *

A/N: And so concludes the first chapter of "How to Get a Girlfriend"! I hope you liked it, I really do. I've had this chapter written for almost a year, but I wanted to wait until I knew for sure how to continue. I will update every Monday (maybe more than that if there is positive feedback).

If you liked it, please review. If you didn't, review and give me some pointers!

Thanks for reading!

~IceCreamGurl6455


	2. Chapter 2

_Let's begin by determining your current odds of getting a girlfriend._

Ask yourself how girls perceive you.

Do they know who you are? If so, how do they treat you?

Do they make rude or demeaning remarks about you- behind your back, or to your face?

Do they ignore you?

Do girls include you in outings or activities, inviting you to social events or occasions?

Judging by the behavior of girls around you, you should be able to tell if a girl romantically likes you, platonically likes you, merely tolerates you, ignores you, or hates you.

If you are merely tolerated, ignored, hated, or just want to take the next step with a friend, it's time to take action.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Lately, I've started calling Steph Crazytop.

It's a cute nickname, right?

It says, hey, I like you. I like you so much that I don't want to call you by the name everyone else calls you. I want to call you a special name. A name that only I call you.

It's romantic and crap. Right?

I think so. Steph, not so much.

Or, at least that's what she wants me to think. Every time I use the name, she scowls and tells me to shut up.

She loves me. She just doesn't know it yet.

"What's the criminal master plot for the evening, Crazytop?" I was sitting on the Madam Alexander display case in the bookstore. Becca was leaning against it. Steph was on the other side, manning the register in case any more customers walked in. Like they would. It was five minutes to closing.

I grabbed a Lindt ball from the cardboard box next to the register.

"You eat that, and you owe me sixty-nine cents," Steph warned me. I took a dollar out of my pocket and threw it onto the countertop, saying, "Keep the change."

Keep the change? _Keep the change?_ Real smooth, Jason. Way to win her heart with the extra 31 cents.

Pathetic, pathetic, **pathetic**!

To hide my growing stupidity, I grabbed another truffle and lobbed it over to Becca.

Who missed it.

And let it roll under the Madam Alexander display case.

She bent down to try to look for it, saying, "Hey, there're a lot of dust bunnies down here. You guys ever think of vacuuming this place or what?"

While she was fumbling to grab the lost chocolate, Steph and I just rolled our eyes at each other. I looked for a sign, any sign, that she liked me, but all she said was, "Now you owe me thirty-eight cents."

Eternally friend-zoned.

Add that to my list of achievements, why don't you?

"I'm good for it." My standard response. "How long until you can shake this cracker box?"

Steph sighed and rolled her eyes. I ask this every night.

"We close at nine. You know we close at nine. We've been closing at nine every night since this place opened, which, I might add, was before we were born."

Even when I'm bugging her, Steph answers. "Whatever you say, Crazytop," I replied, taking another truffle.

"Stop calling me Crazytop," she said. It was a pretty weak response, considering that she's the one who knowingly _became_ Crazytop.

I'm not even kidding. Last week, Steph apparently decided that her hair would look better short, so she waltzed into Curl Up and Dye and asked for a cut. She came out with her hair chopped so that it barely covers her ears in the front.

On any other person, it would look ridiculous. But on Steph, it looks...cute.

I swear, I am turning into _such_ a girl.

"If the name fits," I replied. It does actually fit her surprisingly well. With the frizz and the shortness and her being Steph, I mean.

"Shoe. The expression is, 'If the _shoe_ fits...,' " Steph corrected me. Becca stood up, having located the elusive truffle. She had dust bunnies clinging to her curls. Becca was right, the Landrys really _did _need to vacuum.

"I love the name Crazytop," Becca said sadly.

Steph scowled. "Yeah? Well, that can be your nickname from now on then." Of cause, she didn't mean it.

And why would Becca want a nickname? Crazytop doesn't even fit her. Farmgirl might be better.

You see, up until last year, when the government bought up a bunch of land (including Becca's family's) to make room for the new I-69, Becca lived on a farm hours away from Bloomville. She wore overalls every day, and her chores included feeding the chickens and milking cows.

I am not even kidding.

No one even talked to her until Steph became best friends with her in fifth grade, when I...wasn't there for a while. And when I came back, Becca was part of the deal. Now, we're friends. Not as good of friends as me and Steph, but we all hang out together.

But lately, it had seemed like Becca was _trying_ to be Steph. Or at least a clone of her. So I decided to stop this part of the conversation before it got too out of hand. So I replied, "Excuse, me, but not all of us can be criminal masterminds like Crazytop here." Which was pretty funny, because Steph is about the last person who could ever be a criminal mastermind. She's smart enough, sure, but she is not the evil type. Unless Lauren Moffat is involved, of course, but that's just a natural instinct. Lauren has that effect on people.

Steph rolled her eyes at me. "If you break that display case, I'm making you take all those dolls home with you," she threatened. I stopped swinging my feet immediately. If there's one thing that gives me serious chills, it's Madam Alexander dolls. The painted eyes always follow you, and they _always_ look ready to attack.

And on top of my hatred for the dolls in general, the display was currently featuring a Wizard of Oz collection. Steph is the only person in the world who knows about my fear of that movie. When I was six, I had a babysitter every Friday night for the whole summer because my parents wanted a date night. On the second week, my babysitter forced me to watch The Wizard of Oz right before I went to bed. I had a serious problem with the flying monkeys, and she thought it was funny, so she would bring pictures of them every week. I started having really bad nightmares.

Later that summer, Steph slept over and she woke up to the charming sound of me screaming at the top of my lungs, "Don't eat my teddy bear!" She shook me until I stopped yelling, and she asked what the matter was because, "I think you broke my left ear and I don't want you to break the other one too." So I told her about the flying monkeys, and she told me that I should watch the movie again because "the oompa-loompas are much worse."

Guess what the next night's dream featured? If you said oompa-loompas and flying monkeys eating my teddy bear, congratulations; you got it right!

The "taking home the dolls" comment was a low blow. I was about to say so when Mrs. Landry walked in from the back room. "Hello, Mrs. Landry," I said at the exact time as Becca.

"Oh, hello, Jason, Becca," Mrs. Landry replied, beaming at us. Is it just me, or do pregnant women smile a lot? When they aren't complaining about their back or yelling for pickles and ice cream, I mean. "And what are you kids planning on doing with your last free Saturday night before school starts? Is someone having a party?"

Poor Mrs. Landry. She's either delusional or completely oblivious if she thinks that we would go to a high school party. Or even be invited. It's times like these when I feel kind of bad for Steph. My parents have already accepted that their kid is an unpopular loser freak and moved on from those dreams. But Steph's parents are holding on to their last hope that she will be prom queen and student council president.

I just hope that one day, they wake up to reality. Because I know Steph hates feeling like she's disappointing them. "No, no parties, Mrs. Landry," I answered. "We're just going to drive up and down Main Street."

Just saying those words made me smile a little. I had been saving up all summer to buy The B, but this was the first time she would seen Main Street. It was truly the end of an era, and the start of a new one. Only this new era had air conditioning and a roof.

"Oh." Mrs. Landry sighed. The reality check was getting closer.

I hopped down from the counter. "How much longer you gonna be, huh, Crazytop?" I asked. She opened the cash register and started counting receipts without replying.

Becca sighed. "I wish someone would give _me_ a criminal mastermind nickname."

Back to this again? In my mind, I awarded Becca a blue ribbon for persistence.

What was a reason I could use for not giving her a nickname that wouldn't be the truth, she wouldn't take offense to, and would end the topic once and for all?

"Sorry, Bex…," I said, finding my reason. "You don't have the recognizable facial characteristic—such as a huge chin, or a large amount of real estate between the eyes—that would merit the bestowing of a criminal mastermind nickname, such as Lockjaw or Walleye." Becca beamed, and Steph looked amused. "Whereas Crazytop here…," I continued, joking. "Well, just look at her."

Steph, will still counting money, commented, "At least I can blow-dry my hair straight. Which is more than I can say for your nose, Hawkface."

Hawkface. She called me Hawkface! Steph gave me a nickname! An actual nickname, a name that only she calls me.

I haven't even read The Book yet, and it's already helping.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Landry looked appalled. "Stephanie!" she cried, looking horrified at her daughter's words.

I gave a heavy sigh, trying to cover up the fact that my heart was racing. "It's okay, Mrs. Landry. I know I'm hideous. Avert your gazes, all of you." I looked at Steph, and I saw her rolling her eyes and smiling a bit.

_I wonder what that means_, I thought to myself. Steph finished counting the money and walked the cash drawer to the back room.

"I'm so sorry about what Steph said," Mrs. Landry apologized.

"Don't worry about it," I replied. "My heart's broken, but I will recover!" I joked. Somewhat, at least. Steph had my heart, but she hadn't broken it.

Yet.

Mrs. Landry looked at me really weirdly, like she knew something I didn't. She started to say something, but then Steph walked back to the counter.

"Ready to go?" Steph asked.

"Sure thing, Crazytop," I replied. I linked arms with her and Becca, and the three of us walked out of the store and into the night together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Dedicated to FallenStar22**

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_If girls don't seem to gravitate toward you, it's important to examine the possible reasons why._

There could be many reasons of course.  
*Do you suffer from body odor?  
*Do you have acne?  
*Are you particularly over- (or under-) weight?  
*Are you the class clown (practice inappropriate humor)?  
*Have you made rude or sexist comments to girls in the past?  
*Do you talk to the same girls too much?  
*Do you talk to girls too little?

Probably not, since the above are all easily remedied through cosmetic products, diet and exercise, self-control, and going a little out of your comfort zone.

If you answered no to the above questions, then your case of single-ness is more serious.

You may have brought your current state of being single upon yourself.

Suppose you once did something horrible, something that rendered you "undateable." What can you do about it? Can you ever live it down?

* * *

**Chapter Three**

The first night of driving on Main Street in the B with Steph.

And Becca.

Of course, I had planned everything out. I knew this had to be _perfect_. I made sure the front seat was adjusted for Steph (she's self-conscious about her average-heighted-ness. She's only 5'4, so when I'm around, I tend to…tower.) I put in my 1977 compilation CD because I know _A New Hope_ is Steph's favorite _Star Wars_ movie (because it's the first one she ever watched. When we were four, Steph's cousin Jess was babysitting and she introduced us to the trilogy. Original, of course. Steph loved _A New Hope_. Especially the Cantina scene. She named the teddy bear I gave her for her ninth birthday Ponda Baba.) I even left a flyer for The Coffee Shop on the right side of the dashboard, in case she wanted to go out later.

Everything was set. I thought nothing could go wrong. And then…

Becca.

We walked up to The B and got in. I turned to Steph, who was sitting in the passenger's seat.

…Only to discover that Steph wasn't Steph. Steph was Becca. Or rather, it was _Becca_ who was sitting next to me.

"I thought Steph was going to sit up here," I said, without even thinking. They both looked at me.

Crap.

I searched my mind for something—_anything_—I could use as an excuse. "Because…I still owe her for the Lindt ball!" I blurted out.

Steph was looking at me a little strangely (I didn't blame her), but Becca laughed. "I _can't_ be in the back, silly, I get carsick," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, Jason, you wouldn't want The B to be ruined on her first night out," Steph joked, smiling.

Though I normally would do anything to make Steph smile, her alternate-world scenario made me cringe. Which they both saw. And laughed at.

"You just wait until you get a car and someone threatens it with projectile vomit," I muttered, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

Since Bloomville didn't really have much of a downtown, we were already only seconds away from Main Street. The quickest way to get to Main Street from Courthouse Square Books goes right by Penguin.

This is where all the "popular" people hang out. It's like an In-N-Out Burger in Hollywood: you'll probably see at least one celebrity. Only by celebrity, I mean dumb jock or airhead cheerleader.

So we weren't disappointed to see three of Bloomville high's A-Crowd as we drove past. Only they weren't all poised and glamorous. Actually, they—

"Whoa, did you see that? Alyssa Krueger just took a spill in the middle of the street trying to race in platform espadrilles from Shane Mullen's SUV to Craig Wright's Jeep," I said in awe.

Wait, platform espadrilles? How the hell do I know what _platform espadrilles_ are?

I'm spending way too much time with Steph. The Book better get me out of the friend zone.

Steph, behind me, groaned. "I missed that? WHY?" she moaned.

"Sorry," Becca said. But she didn't really sound that sorry.

I honked the horn. In front of us, Alyssa got up and flipped me the bird before stalking off to get in Craig's back seat. "Did she rip her pants?" Steph asked eagerly, apparently over the whole "missing it" issue.

Me and Becca looked at each other and shrugged. "I'm not sure," Becca said.

"Ditto," I added, continuing down Main Street.

Only to be stopped again by the queen bee herself, the Angelina Jolie of Bloomville High…

Miss Lauren Moffat.

Who just so happened to be driving her new car, a cherry red convertible 645Ci. The greatest BMW ever made.

Daddy's present to his sixteen year old "angel."

Still, I had to let her cut in front of us. I just hoped Steph wouldn't see, because she would be pissed.

Luck, of course, wasn't there to help.

"Oh no, you did _not_ just do that," Steph said, sounding appalled. I inwardly groaned. "Tell me you did not just let Lauren Moffat in." She glared at me, almost daring me to admit to the crime.

The thing is, I understood where she was coming from. The hate between her and Lauren was toxic but mutual, and to Steph, being courteous to her mortal enemy was unthinkable.

But it wasn't like BMW courtesy had a "well, it's okay to ignore a 645Ci if the girl you like can't stand its stuck up bimbo driver" clause. Steph knew that.

"BMW courtesy, Crazytop," I reminded her. "What can I do? She drives a superior model. I _have_ to let her in. It's a moral obligation." I didn't like the rules any more than she did, but owning a BMW comes with a set of unspoken laws, and BMW courtesy is pretty much the golden rule.

Steph turned, fuming, to the windows, and watched the windows of Craig's Jeep get foggier as we drove farther away. I continued to follow Lauren. We got stopped at the light in front of the art supply store when the Brad Pitt to Lauren's Angelina drove up to the corner of Main and Elm.

When I say "Brad Pitt," I don't mean that Mark Finley looks anything like him. Because he doesn't. He has a football player's build, but he isn't too pretty in the face. Like that Parker skeaze from season four of Buffy. Mark isn't too bright either. It's probably a side effect from getting hit in the head too many times during games.

That being said, he's the most popular guy in school.

Mark and Lauren are Bloomville High's "power couple." He's the captain of the football team and student council president. She's his rich "plus one."

And they control most of the student body's minds. They set a precedent for what's "cool," what's "totally lame," and what's "so now!"

And the morons we call classmates listen. And not just the morons anymore; I'm pretty sure Steph has an unhealthy obsession with Mr. Steroids, seeing as how I seem to always catch her staring at him.

I hate that guy.

Lauren started honking and waving at Mark's purple-and-white four-by-four (what kind of guy willingly drives a purple car?), ignoring the now green light. Since there was no one behind us, I didn't mind much, as it allowed me time to tell Mark just how I felt about him.

But I happen to be extremely talented. So talented, in fact, that I only used my hands to convey this.

When I was done, I turned around. "Look Steph, it's your boyfriend," I said, half mockingly. Becca started cracking up, but she had thrown her hands over her mouth so it didn't sound like a laugh.

It sounded more like one of the noises the pigs she used to own made.

"Has he seen your new crazy hairdo?" I asked. I knew that what I was saying might hurt Steph, but I couldn't have stopped talking if I tried. "I bet when he does, he'll forget all about Little Miss Moffat and make a beeline for your tuffet, instead."

Steph was quiet. She turned her head to face the window, looking away from Mark and Lauren, but didn't say anything. I kept driving.

Becca looked at Steph, and then leaned over toward me. "You shouldn't have said that. That was mean," she whispered, throwing another glance at Steph.

I didn't reply. _I know_, I thought. Was Steph mad at me? Would she talk again tonight? Would this be the reverse of the "little bit in love" day?

If it was the last one, I was so screwed, The Book couldn't even save me.

I kept up this vein of thinking for two whole laps of Main Street. Finally, I had to break the silence. "I feel like ass. Who wants coffee?"

* * *

A _huge_ thank you to FallenStar22, who has reviewed the first two chapters and been incredibly supportive of How to Get a Girlfriend. Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

_Can you ever live down a mistake that might be making you "undateable"?_

YES! Of course you can!

The first step toward along the road to getting **that **girl is honestly admitting that there might be areas of your personality, grades, and "looks" that could use a little improvement.

No one is perfect, and most of us have at least a few quirks that might lessen our chances of being absolutely irresistible to the fairer sex.

It's only when we face this fact honestly that we can begin to learn How to Get a Girlfriend.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

After coffee, I dropped Becca off at her house and then continued to my and Steph's street. I could tell she was more than a little peeved about the whole "me telling Kirsten about the red Super Big Gulp incident" thing by the way she ignored me.

Why was it that every time I tried to impress Steph, I always ended up making a complete idiot of myself?

I must just have special talents.

I pulled up in Steph's driveway. She started to reach for the door handle, but I locked the doors.

"Jason," she said in a tired voice, "what are you doing? My curfew's in five minutes and I have to go to church tomorrow. Unlock the doors."

"Not until you accept my sincere apology, Crazytop," I replied. "I'm sorry, I really am."

"Whatever," Steph sighed. "Yeah, I accept it. Can I go now?"

I unlocked the doors. "Of course." Steph got out of The B and walked up to her front porch. She rummaged around in her red-and-blue plaid purse for her key, and an idea started to form in my mind. I jumped out of The B and ran toward her.

Steph found the key as I reached the porch. "Can I come over tomorrow?" I asked quickly.

Steph whirled around. She apparently hadn't heard me appear behind her. "What? Why?"

"If you're not mad at me, then I can come over, right?" I clarified.

Steph groaned. "Jeez, Jason! I'm not mad at you, I already told you that!"

I grinned. "Okay. Great! See you tomorrow, Crazytop," I said, waving before running back to The B so she couldn't protest. Steph shook her curl-covered head before opening her front door and stepping inside. I pulled out of her driveway and into mine, still smiling.

No one was home except my grandma, and she was passed out asleep on the couch with a wedding magazine in her hand and reruns of _I Love Lucy_ on the TV in front of her.

You see, in exactly one week Grandma would be getting married to the one and only Emile Kazoulis, financial backer of the new Bloomville observatory and the grandfather of one Stephanie Landry.

Did you catch that? Next week, Steph's grandpa becomes my step-grandpa.

I'm not exactly sure where that leaves us.

Don't get me wrong; I think Mr. Kazoulis is a great guy. He's always been nice to me, and I know he helps Steph out when her mom gets all hover-y. And Grandma really loves him.

But it makes the whole future I'm hoping to have with Steph seem all weird and creepy.

I walked into my old room and pulled The Book out from under my bed, where I had hidden it. It mocked me. With its vibrant colors and HUGE lettering, it was like a billboard screaming "Jason Hollenbach is a dateless freak!"

It was my only hope.

I opened the brand-new cover and skimmed the first few pages. It almost seemed like a 12-step program. "The first step" and "admitting" jumped out at me. I closed The Book with a groan and put it back under my old bed before going up to my new attic room.

The lights were off, and my alarm clock blinked "12:03 AM" from its seat on the nightstand. I sighed, closing my eyes. Was I really this pathetic?

Apparently.

"I admit that—," I gulped before continuing, "—that there might be areas of my personality, grades, or looks that could use a little improvement." I exhaled. Of_ course_ there were parts of me that could use a little improvement. Like my straight B report card. Or my nose's slight largeness. And my inability to keep myself from saying stupid and insensitive things to Steph.

But that didn't mean I necessarily _wanted _to change those things.

I changed out of my clothes and turned on the light. Because I haven't been in the attic for very long, I don't have any blinds in my window yet. Not that anyone would be able to see into my room. The only way someone could see me was by looking out of the Landrys' upstairs' bathroom.

But the Landrys respect my privacy too much to do that.

In an effort to bulk up and look more like Mark the Idiot, the object of Steph's desires, I have been working out right before I go to bed. Sometimes, I pretend Steph's watching me.

You're probably looking up the number for Bellevue right now, but I swear it's not in a creepy way! It's more of a…motivation thing. You see, I _could_ just give up and go to bed, but Steph the figment-of-my- imagination would be disappointed and keep chasing after Mark the Idiot.

And that would get me nowhere.

Pretending Steph is watching is good for me.

Hopefully, I won't be pretending for much longer though, because I'm starting to imagine that someone is watching me from the Landry's bathroom. I keep thinking that I see something glinting through the window, like a lens from a telescope or a camera.

The Book had better help soon, or I'll check myself into Bellevue.


	5. Chapter 5

_What's the secret of finding love? What makes some people have lasting relationships and others not date at all?_

You don't have to sing ballads under moonlit skies to your _amour_ (though it might get you some points for romance) in order to get her. To make yourself more appealing and "dateable" when you talk to girls, make sure you:

*Always have a ready smile.  
* Show genuine interest when a girl talks (even if you are bored to death.)  
* Remember girls' names (and use them when talking to said girls…but not too much!)  
* Give good advice when asked.  
* Make the girl you are talking to feel special and important. She will remember that you care, and you might just learn something new about her!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

My grandma was really stressed about the wedding.

I could tell because when I walked down the stairs at 12:37 PM on Sunday morning, she turned away from the portable mirror she had wheeled into the den and asked, "Do you think I should wear lilac or platinum eye shadow for Saturday?"

I have no sense of style. At all. I might even be a type of colorblind. No sane person would _ever_ listen to my opinion on anything remotely fashion-related.

The wedding is driving her insane.

"What color do you like, Grandma?" I asked amicably.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't _know_, that's why I'm asking you."

I sighed. "The purple-y one. Go with the purple-y one."

She brightened up. "Thank you, Jason," she beamed, pinching my cheek and gliding away.

I rubbed my cheek. For an older lady, she had some grip. Shaking my head, I grabbed the box of Froot Loops from the kitchen cupboard, found a salad bowl and a spoon, and took the milk out of the fridge. While juggling all of these essentials (which was really an impressive feat when you think about it), I made my way to the living room and turned on Spongebob.

After watching the marathon for about two hours, I decided that I had given Steph enough time to get home from church and change, so I headed to the girl next door's house.

When I walked into her room, I had to fight the urge to run. She had clothes draped on every surface. New clothes. Clothes I had never seen before.

Some sexy-looking clothes.

BAD JASON. BAD, BAD JASON. STOP THINKING NOW.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"What does it look like?" she fired back.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "Sorting through your clothes?"

"See, they were right to let you go on to eleventh grade this year, after all," Steph said sarcastically.

Well, she obviously wasn't over the whole "last night" thing.

"Funny," I replied. "Are those _new_?" She looked at me. Where did Steph come up with all that money for new clothes? Did she rob someone? Did she steal a credit card or purse or something?

Oh my God. Steph is a delinquent.

I stared at her before deciding that I really didn't want to know. "Well, okay. But like…," I struggled to find the right way to say what I wanted to, "since when do you care about clothes?"

Steph looked offended. "I've always cared about clothes," she stated. "I mean, I care about how I look."

_But if you start dressing like a freaking model, I'm going to have serious competition! _ I screamed in my head.

Then I remembered the haircut that made Steph into Crazytop.

"Oh, really, Crazytop?" I asked, smirking.

"For your information, this haircut is all the rage in the runways in Paris," she replied haughtily.

It was only through my excellent self-control that I managed not to burst out laughing. But seriously, "all the rage on the runways in Paris"? Where did Steph get that from?

It almost sounded like she was trying to be…Lauren Moffat.

"Paris, Texas, maybe," I answered, finding a spot of floor that wasn't covered in clothes and collapsing.

"Whatever," Steph said, making a face. "Don't you have something you should be doing?"

This was when step one of The Plan was started.

You see, thanks to the book, I had a Plan to tell Steph my feelings and get her to fall in love with me. Not necessarily in that order.

Step One: I would invite her to go on a drive to a romantic-ish place that wasn't _too_ romantic.

Step Two: I would dazzle her with my brilliant wit while making Mark the Idiot look like, well, an idiot.

Step Three: I would get her something to eat.

Step Four: She would slowly fall in love with me.

Step Five: I would make her jealous.

Step Six: I would tell her how I feel and she would tell me and we would live happily ever after.

At least that was the outline. I still hadn't figured out all the details. Or any of them, actually.

I took a deep breath and willed myself not to chicken out. "Yeah. I was thinking about taking The B to the lake. Wanna come?"

_Please say yes, _please_ say yes, PLEASE say yes, Steph!_

Steph smiled at me (_yes!_) apologetically (_no!_). "I wish I could, but school starts tomorrow and I have to finish with these clothes."

My heart sank. "Aw, c'mon," I said, a little bitterly. "When'd you get to be such a _girl_?"

This was the wrong thing to say, and Steph glared at me. "Thanks," she practically hissed.

I tried to explain. "You know what I mean," I said helplessly, rolling over and staring at the glow-in-the-dark Andromeda constellation stuck to Steph's ceiling. "I mean, you never used to care about clothes and your hair—," I broke off, knowing I should quit while I was ahead.

But I, of course, _never_ listen to my rational side.

"—And how big your butt's gotten," I finished, feeling myself go red at the mention of Steph's butt.

Steph blinked. "Well, not all of us can eat anything we want and not gain weight. Not all of us NEED to gain weight. Like some people I could mention," she said, giving me a pointed glare.

I decided to be blunt. "Is this about Mark Finley?" I asked, hoping and praying that it wasn't.

Her instant blush gave it all away. I felt my stomach twist into knots.

"No," she said loudly. "Because if it were, I'd be crawling all over myself to go with you, wouldn't I? Since the lake's the most likely place Mark and all the other A-crowders will be today. Which begs the question, why do you even want to go there, considering how much you hate all those guys?"

She had two valid points. But she had also basically told me that there was not a chance of her going anywhere with me, not even if her lust-bunny was going to be there.

And it hurt. A lot.

I rolled over so she couldn't see the expression on my face as I digested this information slowly. "I wanna take The B to the lake," I said in a controlled voice. "She's never seen it. At least, not with me. Plus, you know, there are those curves over on the turnpike I want to try her out on," I added.

Steph rolled her eyes. "Oh my God. And you accuse me of being such a girl? You are such a _boy_."

Normally, I would rejoice at this acceptance of my manliness. But I just felt empty. I got up to leave. "Fine. I'll just go by myself."

Steph looked up at me. "Why don't you ask Becca?" she suggested. "She's probably just home scrapbooking, or something."

Like I really wanted to invite Farmgirl. Becca was perfectly sweet, but she was a little _too_ sweet towards me, if you get my drift. I could barely stand being around her with Steph there as a buffer, but straight up Becca?

I would drive off a cliff.

I gave an acceptable excuse. "She gets carsick on the way to the lake. Remember?"

"Not if you let her sit in the front," Steph replied as she sorted more of her clothes into piles.

I made a face. Why didn't Steph get it? "Becca…Becca's been acting strange around me lately. Haven't you noticed?" I tried.

Steph's face was blank. "No."

"Well, she has. Pestering me to give her a criminal mastermind name. That whole thing last night about finding your soul mate. That kind of stuff."

Steph was still oblivious. "Come on, Jason. She just wants to fit in, be part of the gang. She's used to hanging out with cows and stuff. Cut her some slack. Can't you think of a criminal mastermind name for her?"

Yeah. Farmgirl, duh! "No." Steph rolled her eyes. I decided to give my plan one more try. "Want to go to The Hill tonight?"

"No." Steph didn't even consider it. "Last time I had to dab myself with gasoline to get rid of all the chiggers that crawled into my underwear."

I felt myself turning red at the thought of Steph's underwear. And everything else.

STOP IT, JASON.

"We could go to the observatory, then," I offered.

"Why? The Peresids are over. And the Orionids don't start until October."

"There's other stuff to see in the sky besides meteor showers, you know, Steph. I mean, there's Antares. And Arcturus."

Steph gave me a look that was close to pity. "It's a school night, Jason. I'm not going to the observatory."

A voice behind me said, "Who's not going to the observatory?" Mr. Landry was standing behind me.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Landry," I said nervously. _I'm the guy who wants to date your daughter and is standing in her room. Please don't kill me._ "Steph and I were just talking."

"I can see that," Mr. Landry boomed. "How's the new car?"

Cars. A good topic. "Awesome," I replied. "This morning I cleaned the bulbs on my dash gauges. Now they shine like new."

"Good for you," Mr. Landry smiled. I glanced at Steph, who was rolling her eyes and tuning us out.

Some way, somehow, I would win her heart.


	6. Chapter 6

__**This chapter is dedicated to MichaelMia4ever.**

* * *

_Examine those you know who are in lasting relationships.  
_

Study them.

See how they act toward their girlfriends.

Observe what they say.

Analyze their body language. (Do they smile? Do they hug?)

Listen to what they talk about.

These people are your role models. Without "copying them" (no one wants a shadow!), try to be more like them.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

I ran a comb through my wet hair one last time, but there was still a part in the back that stuck up.

I sighed. "Well, this is as good as it's going to get," I said to my reflection in the mirror. I looked at my clock and saw that it was 7:55; I was supposed to meet Steph and Farmgirl at The B at 8.

Grabbing my backpack, I raced down the stairs. "Bye, Mom, bye Grandma, bye Dad!" I yelled as I ran through the kitchen.

Becca's dad had just pulled up in the driveway when I got outside. She hopped out and yelled, "Bye, Dad!" before turning to me and beaming. "Hello, Jason," she said in a gruff voice. I think she thought it was sexy.

Oh my God. Becca is trying to talk to me in a sexy voice.

_Please _let this be a nightmare.

I unlocked the car and slid into the front seat. I ran my hands over the leather, cranking up the Rolling Stones CD in the stereo, and took a deep breath. _I can handle this. Just five minutes until Steph gets here. Becca can't possibly do anything in five min—_

Becca opened the passenger's side door and sat down next to me. "Are you ready for today?" she asked, wiggling a little and sticking her chest out. Becca was—jeez, Becca was wearing a "low-cut" top. I use the words "low-cut" in quotes because it wasn't actually that low. There was just a little below-the-collar-bone action going on, which was a far cry from Becca's normally half-Amish ways.

And she was wearing perfume! Way too much of it. I swear, that psychic chick from Ernest Pyle who saved the cheerleader who was locked in a car truck could have found her without even trying. (If you're lost, this girl a couple towns over claimed she was psychic last spring. A cheerleader went missing, and she found the girl by _smelling her sweater_. Then again, Ernest Pyle High School always had weird students.)

All this for me? Um, NO.

Steph ran up to The B before I could comment. "Good morning, Crazyt— What happened to you?" I demanded as she stepped into the backseat.

Steph looked hot. Supermodel gorgeous, with her hair decidedly _not_ crazy and clothes that looked like they had been stolen off of a Cosmo covergirl.

She looked nothing like Steph Landry.

In fact, she looked like a clone of Lauren Moffat. A Moffat-clone.

Steph looked at me. "Nothing," she replied. "Why? Is something wrong?" She looked concerned.

I swiveled around and inconspicuously checked her out. It was like Steph's face and hair had been put on top of Lauren's body. Her hair was all straight, and it looked _hot_. Not cute, like it used to when it was crazy, but _hot_. "What happened to your hair?"

"Oh, this?" Steph moved her bangs so they covered one eye, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer in season three, and bit her lip.

She was gorgeous.

"I just used a flat iron, is all," Steph shrugged.

"I think it looks nice," Becca said angrily, glaring at me.

"Thank you," Steph replied.

I looked down at her legs, focusing on what was on them. "What kind of SOCKS are those?" I said huffily, more from my having to control my breathing than from anger.

"Thigh-highs," Steph said in a patronizing tone.

"I think they look nice," Becca repeated, trying to kick me but failing.

I stared at the huge gap between the top of Steph's socks and the bottom of her skirt. In any other situation…

I felt my face turn bright red. "Is your skirt short enough?" I practically yelled.

"That's the style," she explained airily.

"Since when do _you_ care what's in style?" I asked, really shouting now.

"Wow, thanks a lot. I didn't mean to try to look nice for the first day of school, or anything."

And there was the guilt trip.

"I think she looks great," Becca insisted.

I ignored her and put the car into gear. "What is this about, Crazytop? What's the plan?"

"There's no plan," Steph said quietly. "And you can't call me Crazytop anymore, since my hair isn't curly right now."

_Unfortunately_. Because Steph looked better when she was normal.

When she wasn't pretending to care about what the A-crowd thought.

"I'll call you Crazytop anytime I damn well want to," I snapped. "Now what's the deal?"

"There isn't one!" she insisted, over and over again, as we continued on to Bloomville High. Becca kept glaring at me, as if I had done something wrong.

Lauren Moffat cut us off right as I was about to park. She got out of the car…

…and it was like she and Steph had decided it was twin day. Same short skirt, same "thigh-high" socks, same sweater set.

Only on Lauren, it looked revolting. Like she was trying too hard. Not that Steph didn't look out of place, but Lauren looked fake.

Actually, it was pretty normal for Queen Lauren.

"She's wearing those same socks!" I hissed as I parked next to Lauren's car.

Steph looked oddly relieved. We made our way to the front doors, toward the chaos that was the first day back to high school. "What is the world coming to? When Steph Landry and Lauren Moffat are dressing alike?" I grumbled, loud enough for them to hear me.

"We're hardly dressed alike," Steph snipped. "I mean she's wearing a micromini, and mine's just—"

The noise was deafening as we stepped inside the building. There were people everywhere: at lockers, near the bathrooms, doing the Napoleon Dynamite dance while Dr. Greer yelled at them to "get into my office now or it will be detention for a month!"

Swamply Wampler, the dumpy, cranky vice principal, was standing in the middle of the main hallway, screaming, "Get to your homeroom! Get to your homeroom before the late bell! You don't want a detention your first day, do you, people?"

The conversation between Steph and me was obviously over. "Sit by you at the welcome back convocation?" Becca shrieked over the din of the crowd. She was referring to the annual speech we were given by various administration members about Reaching our Full Potential, the Dangers of Drug Abuse, Making Responsible Decisions, and the Importance of Having School Spirit.

"See you then," Steph yelled back, waving.

I stared at her as I she left me by my locker. "I'm not done with you, Crazytop. Something's up with you, and I'm going to find out what it is!" I shouted as a promise.

Steph laughed and mouthed, "Good luck," before leaving.

I stared at her retreating form. She would never tell me what kind of stunt she was trying to pull. It probably had something to do with Mark the Idiot.

But in true Crazytop fashion, it would be spectacular.

I just had to figure out what it was and, with The Book's help, stop it.


	7. Chapter 7

Alright everyone, this chapter is my favorite so far. I hope you like/love it!

This chapter is dedicated to **my** Jason, whose name isn't really Jason at all :)

* * *

_We've all heard the phrase "dress for success." But can it help in terms of finding love?_

There isn't any specific outfit that attracts girls, but there are some that repel them. Check your closet. Do you own any:

*improperly fitting clothes?  
*red cowboy boots?  
*pocket protectors?

If you own these items and wear them regularly, it is time to rethink your wardrobe.

First impressions are very important. A girl has to give you the time of day before falling for you.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Classes were only a half hour long because of the assembly, but that was enough time for me to hear from four different people how Steph confronted Lauren before homeroom.

Stuckey was retelling the version he had heard animatedly as we made our way to the auditorium. "…And then she told Lauren that she was done with all the crap and that she would destroy her. And then she tried to slap Lauren and Mark got all in her face and she stopped. That chick is _insane_, Jase. Has she ever tried to hurt you? Because you could, you know, sell that. To the school paper."

I laughed. "Okay, one, since when has the _Bloomville High Times_ had any money? Everyone knows Freddy Iverson runs the whole thing himself, and he can't pay for color ink, let alone for an 'exclusive story' from anyone, even a freak like me. Two, the closest Steph has come to 'hurting me' is when we leg-wrestle, and that's only because I'm a little too preoccupied with keeping _other_ things under control when we do that. Three, I'm pretty sure none of that _ever happened_ anyway. Steph doesn't work that way. She's more the undercover spy type. She wouldn't give Lauren any more reason to notice her."

Would she?

Nah. This was _Steph._ The Infamous Steph Landry. Steph Landry, whose name was known throughout Bloomville, and even into Greene County. Steph Landry, who was hated by Lauren and all her followers who kept the name alive, and thought by everyone else to be a serial killer or a psycho.

She wouldn't do anything that stupid.

But something _had_ happened. That much was sure. But what had she done?

Whatever it was, it must have been part of her criminal mastermind plan. Which I, of course, was fine with.

Unless it involved Mark the Idiot in a positive way.

I saw Becca and Steph at the doors of the auditorium. "Later, dude," I nodded to Stuckey.

"Don't make any sudden movements or do anything to provoke her!" Stuckey called after me. I grimaced, ducking my head as I made my way toward Steph.

Sometimes, I wondered why was I friends with him.

I reached Steph and Becca and started walking next to them. "This is so lame," I groaned. Becca and I headed for our usual seats in the last row. As we had discovered last year, they were prime seats for the Soda Plan, which consisted of rolling Pepsi cans down the cement floor during particularly boring parts of the assembly. Plus, we never get in trouble, because Swampy always assumes that Townies can do no wrong and blames the Grits. Not that anything happens to them, because of course there is no proof.

It's a win/win situation.

Steph grabbed my arm, and I froze.

_Could today be the day that all my dreams came true? Would she finally see me as "her type"?_

I held my breath as she spoke. "I've got an idea: let's sit closer!" she gushed, turning to walk down the narrow aisle.

Of course. Because Mark the Idiot would be on stage, thanks to his senior-class-president-dom. And Steph would _never_ pass up a chance to be near him.

This statement had made Becca practically squeal with excitement. "Oh my gosh! Is this part of a criminal master plot?"

I stared at Steph as she blushed. She looked adorable. "Uh. Yeah," she scrambled for an answer as she led us to the front.

"How'm I going to be able to roll my Coke can down the aisle if we're up front?" I complained. I already knew the answer.

"You're not," Steph confirmed.

This convocation was going to suck. "Whatever your plan is, it better be worth it, We're going to have to, like, pay attention."

The very idea horrified me. Here I was, with an outstanding record of not paying attention during all assemblies, and now Steph was going to ruin my perfect streak?

Only her. No one else would ever get me to do half the stuff I let her talk me into.

"Exactly," Steph replied, sitting down and staring at the podium attentively.

The podium where Mark the Idiot would stand soon.

Who was I kidding? She would _never_ give up on him. Not unless something drastically changed.

But what could I do?

I shook my head. "I don't get it. First the hair, then the socks, now this. Did you suffer a concussion this summer that I didn't know about?" I was only half joking. Steph had done a complete 180 from when I saw her yesterday afternoon.

Swampy Wampler was starting to yell for us to "Be quiet, you hooligans!", so Steph shushed me.

The entire A-crowd sashayed into the rows in front of us. Alyssa Krueger cleared the aisle so Lauren and Mark could promenade down it, looking down upon their faithful subjects as they made their way to the two empty seats for them in the front row.

I made a certain rude noise as they walked by, which made Steph glare at me and kick my shin.

Principal Greer walked out onto the stage as Lauren and Mark sat down. I settled into my seat and rested my feet on the back of the chair in front of me. Courtney Pierce (who has had it in for me ever since I accidentally-on-purpose broke her science fair project in fifth grade) turned around and looked at me with loathing.

"What?" I asked, playing dumb and enjoying every second of her annoyance. "I'm not touching you."

Courtney let out a frustrated groan and spun back around, grumbling.

Becca opened her backpack, took out a sparkly purple pen, and started drawing on the white tops of my Converse.

The tops. Of my Converse. With purple sparkles.

Steph AND Becca had lost it!

I looked at Steph desperately, silently begging her to stop her crazy friend.

She ignored me.

So Becca kept drawing. Who knows what she would have done if I had tried to stop her? She was _clearly_ mentally unstable. She could stab me, or draw on the stars.

I let her draw to save the stars.

The speech was getting more and more boring. I kept yawning. Steph was alert and listening.

Maybe she had superpowers.

I ended up closing my eyes. For about twenty minutes. When I woke up, I saw how totally and completely destroyed my Converse (along with my dignity) were. "Oh, man," I groaned. Becca had added unicorns to the stars and hearts she was drawing before I fell asleep.

Farmgirl looked pleased with herself (though why, I have no idea.) "Aren't they cute?"

Becca was being serious. "Oh, man," I said again. Steph rolled her eyes (though I'm not sure who at) and started to speak, but Mark the Idiot jumped up on stage and grabbed the mic.

"Hey," he started. Steph swiveled around to face him. "So, yeah. Uh."

Wow. Steph can really pick 'em, can't she?

"It's a new school year—"

Way to state the obvious, Mark.

"—and you know what that means…"

Of course we do, Marky Mark. But I'm sure you will tell us anyway, just in case anyone in the crowd is slower than you.

"…Last year's juniors are seniors now, and—"

Well, that's what normally happens.

The senior class burst out into cheers. I guess for those particular people, making it to senior year _is_ an achievement.

"Um, yeah."

Another wonderfully insightful comment from Bloomville High's finest.

"So, you know what that means."

More idiots are turning 18. Great. This is why the last great president was Reagan.

"We gotta start saving up for our senior trip this spring."

Ah, yes. The senior trip. "Educational" and "chaperoned," the senior class's trip was widely known to be the biggest excuse for underage boozing in the tri-county area. It was guys like Mark's idea of the perfect weekend.

"Which means we gotta make some money."

For the booze.

"Now, I know last year's senior class made like five thousand dollars doing weekend car washes."

Mostly from creepy old men who liked seeing underage girls in bikinis.

"And I propose we do the same thing."

Somewhere, a chat room filled with all the creepy guys in Indiana is rejoicing. _All hail, Mark Finley. Friend to pervs everywhere!_

"The Red Lobster out by the mall said we could use their parking lot again—"

For maximum highway exposure.

"—so…whadduya say? You folks up for a car wash?"

I snickered, but the rest of the school thought it was a brilliant idea. Or at least, that's what it seemed like, what with the standing and the cheering.

Someone started the "Go, Fish!" cheer. It's a school spirit thing. All of Bloomville High's sports teams are the Fighting Fish. Apparently, the genius who came up with it didn't get the memo that there are no large bodies of water in Indiana.

There were only two people (other than me, of course) who didn't look thrilled with this plan. The first was Gordon Wu, mathlete and junior class president, who stood up and meekly said, "Excuse me, er, Mark, but I was wondering if there weren't some other method by which we might raise funds, other than car washes? You see, some of us would prefer to have our Saturdays free for, um, lab work—" (This statement was met by the usual calls of "Don't be such a Steph!")

The second person was Steph Landry.

She was frowning and seemed to be debating something with herself. But she wasn't completely wowed by Mark the Idiot's speech. This gave me hope.

I was about to make a comment about the utter lame-ness of her Dreamboy's speech when she stood up.

"Gordon brings up an interesting point," Steph said loudly to be heard over the noise. I almost fell out of my seat. My feet fell off Courtney's chair, and I stared up at Steph.

"_WHAT ARE YOU DOING_?" I mouthed. "_SIT DOWN!_"

Becca started biting her nails, something she does when she's nervous.

The whole auditorium went quiet. Steph started blushing again, and her legs were shaking.

Steph continued. "We have a lot of very talented individuals in this room. It seems a shame to waste them. Which is why I was thinking a good way to raise money for the senior class trip would be to hold a student talent auction."

People all around had started whispering. Steph froze. Lauren and Alyssa started giggling and talking.

"Let me explain," Steph said quickly, in a high-pitched voice that I recognized as the one she reserved for yelling at Pete. "Students like Gordon, for instance, who are very good with computers, could auction off a few hours of computer programming to a member of the community."

The whispers grew louder, and Steph looked a little panicked. She looked up at the guy at the podium. "Or, you, for instance, Mark. Being the school's quarterback, Mark, you could auction off your time to film a local television ad for a community business. People would pay a lot for that kind of an endorsement."

Lauren looked horrified that Steph was talking to her other half. Swampy and Dr. Greer were at the side of the stage, talking in hushed tones and staring at Steph.

"It just seems like we have so many extraordinarily talented people at this school; it would be a shame not to give them a chance to shine at what they're naturally good at," Steph finished.

Alyssa cupped her hands around her mouth and hissed, "What's _your _talent, Steph?"

"Oh, right, Super Big Gulp!" Lauren replied. The team burst into laughter.

But no one else did.

Was Steph…living down her name?

Steph cleared her throat. "Which is not to say that we shouldn't have a car wash in addition to a talent auction, for the participation of those people whose talents are less marketable than others," she said, looking straight at Lauren.

It took all I had to not start laughing. Steph wasn't all gone. She was still herself…at least a little.

"But I think we ought to consider a talent auction, as well," Steph half-mumbled, sitting down as fast as she could.

Me and Becca stared at her as she slowly met our gazes. "What was _that_ about?" I asked quietly. "Since when do you care about the senior class trip?"

Because she totally didn't. We had mocked it _so_ many times as we lay on The Hill at night, looking at the stars. Why did she care now?

Halfway through my sentence, Mark the Idiot had tapped on the mic, so Steph probably hadn't even heard me. I sighed.

"Uh, okay. Thanks, uh, um—," Mark scrambled for Steph's name.

He mocked her without even knowing who she was.

I hated that guy.

"Steph Landry!" Lauren shouted.

I saw the recognition in his eyes. I hate the fact that I was close enough to _see_ his eyes. "Thanks, Steph," he nodded. "Um, I think a, um, talent auction sounds like a great idea."

"WHAT?" Lauren was furious. I could almost see the smoke coming out of her ears.

Okay, that sight alone made the whole thing worth it.

Mark confusedly looked back and forth between Lauren and Steph.

"Great," he continued. "So, is it okay if I put you in charge of signing people up for that, Steph? The, um, talent thingie?"

"Sure," Steph beamed. My heart sank for the second time today.

"Great," Mark repeated. He led the school in the "Bloomville Fighting Fish Slap," and then the bell rang. People gave Steph space when they saw her coming, like Moses when he parted the Red Sea. Only I'm pretty sure it was due to the alleged Lauren-Steph smackdown.

"You're going to explain this, Crazytop," I told her. She turned to me with a reply, but then people swarmed her and she was gone.

"That was so cool!" Becca said excitedly.

"Right. Cool," I absentmindedly answered.

Why did Steph do it? What was her plan?


	8. Chapter 8

**This chapter is dedicated to Gravity5.**

* * *

_Now that your wardrobe has been taken care of, it's time to work on your personality._

Are you outgoing? Do you actively pursue conversations and interactions with girls? If not, you CAN change.

How?

By enrolling in co-ed clubs and activities.

Girls start conversing and interacting with boys they meet and gradually start to know. You have to start somewhere!

If you have a specific target in mind, research her interests. At the very least, the discussion of these subjects can be conversation starters. But these conversations can turn into a friendship, which is one step closer to a relationship.

If you are already friends with the girl you wish to date, perhaps you need to be more outgoing for her to realize what she has—and what she could lose.

So sign up now for school or community social activities…then show off what a great person you are!

Enthusiasm is contagious, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Becca and I decided to take a few steps back while we waited for Steph to make her way out of the crowd.

It took a while.

All sorts of people were trying to talk to her: Gordon Wu, Mandy Owens, Sara Greenley…even Dr. Greer had something to say!

We walked up right as he commented, "Very nice suggestion, Tiffany. It's good to see you taking part in school activities for a change."

Tiffany! He didn't even know Steph's name!

"Your friends here might want to follow your lead," he added, glaring at me in particular.

Okay, I _might_ have spread a rumor about him and Swampy last year, but in NO WAY should he hold a grudge. I mean, I'm a whole 4 months older than I was! If I were to do that, say, now, I would add _lots_ more detail to make it authentic.

He walked away. "It's Stephanie," I called. "Her name's Stephanie!"

He shook his head slightly and ignored me.

Steph either didn't hear me or didn't care. She was staring behind me. I knew who she was looking at before I even turned around.

"Cool idea, Steph," smiled Mark the Idiot. "See ya."

He really isn't good at words, is he?

Becca and Steph were practically swooning, though.

"Mark Finley smiled at you. He SMILED. At YOU. IN a NICE way," Becca said, sounding stunned. She looked like she was about to pass out.

Steph flung herself down in a chair. She was freaking _glowing_. "I know!" she almost squealed.

"Mark Finley…" Becca looked like she was in a Mark-induced trance. "I mean, he's like…he's the most popular guy in the whole school."

"I know," Steph said in awe. The auditorium was empty except for us. And Alyssa Krueger and Shane Mullen, but they were being super quiet and respectful of our conversation from their spot in the second row, so it was like they weren't there.

"What the hell is the matter with you Steph?" I whisper-yelled so I wouldn't ruin their "moment." "Did someone pour crack all over your cornflakes this morning, or something?"

Steph, I knew, was trying to act innocent. "What?" She even fluttered her eyelashes, which did bad things to me. Or good things, depending on your definition.

She wasn't, however, getting away with not telling me what was going on. "Don't give me that. You know exactly WHAT. What was all that back there? What's a talent auction? And what's with you volunteering to participate in one? What's with you showing SCHOOL SPIRIT?"

I spat the last word as if it was some kind of disease. Because at Bloomville High, it was.

Steph shakily stood up. "I just wanted to help out," she said in a half whiny, half stubborn voice. "I mean, someone'll do the same when it's our turn to go to King's Island next year."

I stared at her. An idea as to why she was acting so strange came to mind, but I dismissed it. It was crazy…it couldn't be true.

Could it?

I jumped up. "You," I said, pointing my finger at her, "HATE King's Island. You threw up on the log flume last time we went there and refused to go on anymore rides." And then I sat with you on a bench for three and a half hours while everyone else went on roller coasters.

Steph wasn't fazed. "So? Does that mean I'm not allowed to try and help other people enjoy something, just because I don't like heights?" She started moving toward the exit.

"Yes!" I almost shouted. I _really_ didn't want my theory to be right. "Because that is perilously close to school spirit. And you don't have school spirit." And that's a good thing, Steph, because school spirit is a contagious disease for which there is currently no cure.

"Actually, I've been thinking a lot about that, and—"

My theory was right. There was no other explanation.

Steph's mind had been hijacked by an alien.

That was the only explanation, though. Wasn't it?

If aliens weren't involved, then it would be like she WANTED all those A-crowders to like her. But why would Steph do that?

Hence, the alien conclusion.

I reached the doors and blocked them so Steph couldn't walk away from me again. "Oh, no. Don't even try to go there with me, Steph. How in hell can you want to help those people have a good time on their senior trip when all they've ever done is make your life miserable?"

Steph rolled her eyes. "That wasn't _them_. That was Lauren. She's not going to King's Island," she explained.

Oh, okay, that makes _everything_ better!

Not.

"So what? She's the enemy, and they're her friends. Ergo, they're your enemies."

Steph just looked at me with a weird expression on her face.

It must be the alien thing.

"You're being really childish about this, Jason," Steph chided me. "There's nothing wrong with showing a little school spirit by trying to help others who might be in need We've only got two more years in this place. We should really try to enjoy the short time we have left."

She was insane. Completely and utterly bonkers.

_Enjoy the time we have left_? Where was the Steph who couldn't wait to "leave this backwoods town" after high school? She always _hated_ living here, with the "Steph Landry" comments, and wanted to go somewhere where nobody knew her name.

What had changed?

Back to my alien theory.

I checked her forehead for a fever, ignoring the chills I got from touching her. "Does she seem hot to you, Becca?" Okay, that didn't come out the way I meant it to. "Because I think she might be coming down with something," I continued. "Lassa fever, or maybe Marburg's. Either that or she's been body-snatched and replaced with a very clever clone."

Becca and Steph exchanged glances and rolled their eyes simultaneously.

I went on, trying to disprove the alien theory. "Clone! Tell me what game Steph Landry and I used to play in the big dirt pile they made when they were digging my family's pool, back when we were both seven, or I'll know you're an alien replacement and you've got the real Steph up in your mother ship!"

If aliens had REALLY abducted Steph. I could save her. And she would realize that she's totally in love with me and we could—

"G.I. Joe meets Spelunker Barbie," Steph replied with a glare, interrupting my fantasy.

There goes my theory.

"And stop being so ridiculous. We have to go. We're going to get a bad table for lunch."

What? I thought we were going out to lunch. Because I have The B now.

"I thought we were going out to lunch," Becca said, looking dejected. "You know. Since Jason's got a car now."

Steph looked at us like _we_ were the crazy ones. "We can't go OUT to lunch! Don't you get it? Lunch is the most important time of the day for social interaction in the school setting."

Then again, maybe lunch would be more fun without Steph, seeing as how she seemed to be stuck in school-spirit-lunchtime-etiquette-lecture mode.

"What I mean is, I can't just not show up down there. I have to be available, in case anyone wants to sign up. You know, for the auction. Do you see what I mean?"

I'm sure all of this made a lot of sense in Steph's World, but to me it just sounded like she wanted to ditch me and Becca.

But if that's what she wanted, I would let her.

Becca looked at me, her face all scrunched up and confused. I nodded at her, trying to get her to go along with what I was about to say.

"Oh. We see what you mean, all right. And if this isn't part of some greater diabolical master plan—one that involves talking the school into buying nonexistent swampland in Florida or something—then we're out. So. Is it?" The words broke my heart.

She didn't get it. "Is it what?"

"Part of some diabolical master plan to take out Mark Finley as senior class president, or something?"

She didn't reply, which was enough of an answer for me.

I turned to Becca. "Come on, let's go," I said. She scurried over to me.

Steph looked a little crazed. "Good. Now, we'll just go down there and hit the salad bar or whatever, and then sit by those plants the horticulture club puts out, and if anyone comes by, we'll—"

She didn't get it. I felt like Mike Wazowski in the Himalayas scene from Monsters Inc. "WE won't do anything." I opened the doors and walked out of the auditorium, Becca closely following behind me.

Steph jogged to catch up to me. "Well, no, I mean, of course not, I realize this is my thing and all. You guys don't have to help. But if—hey, where are you going?"

We had continued toward the doors to the student parking lot.

"We're going to Pizza Hut," I said emotionlessly. "You're welcome to come with us, if you change your mind."

Becca opened the door, and I looked back at Steph one more time before leaving. I could hear her calling "You guys!" after us, but she didn't follow.

My heart hurt.


	9. Chapter 9

_It's all about empathy—identifying with other people's feelings and expressing that sentiment._

Couples "relate" to one another, making their significant other feel that they are not alone. They don't just nod understandingly when their other half tells him or her about their problems—they make them feel safe and loved through their words, actions and body language.

By making yourself more empathetic to the feelings of girls, they will feel more "connected" to you, and your appeal will increase astronomically!

So get busy empathizing!

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

I left the parking lot as soon as Becca shut the door. "Why didn't you wait? Steph might have changed her mind."

I looked at her sadly as I made the turn onto 2nd. "She won't. She wants to be at school. With them."

"But…why?" Becca was genuinely confused.

Farmgirl had obviously never been ditched by a close friend before. "Because they're going to talk to her."

"I thought she liked talking with us," Becca commented.

"So did I." I parked the car and got out. Becca did the same. "I guess I was wrong," I mused.

"Maybe she's just having an off day," she suggested as we entered the small, red building. A waitress motioned for us to seat ourselves. "It could be PMS, or something."

She did _not_ just use PMS as an excuse.

For one, she should know NEVER to bring up the P-word (or anything concerning it, such as the T-word) to guys. And Steph doesn't PMS. Much. It's more of her groaning about cramps and making me go to Jimmy's Kwik Mart to buy her chocolate bars.

"Aw, man, Becca. Don't even talk about that kind of stuff. That's gross," I complained.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "It's just, Steph's never acted like this. Ever. And I've known her since fifth grade."

"I've known her my whole life, and she's never done anything remotely like that before. Maybe it's mad cow disease, or something," I suggested, scanning the menu prices to figure out how much I could get for twenty bucks.

"Jason! Steph is not a cow! I can't believe you would call her that! She could be over this whole thing by the end of lunch, and you start calling her horrible names? You should be _ashamed_."

I put my hands up to ward off Becca's fierce torrent of admonishing. "Chill, Bex. I wasn't calling Steph a cow. Mad cow disease is an actual thing. And Steph loves burgers, which can be made with infected beef."

"Oh. Sorry."

The blonde waitress walked up to our table. "Good afternoon!" she beamed. "My name is Meg; I'll be your server today. What can I get you, sir?" she simpered.

"Um, I'll have a Mountain Dew."

"And I'll have a Diet Coke," Becca said quickly. Meg looked at her with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Alright," she said slowly, writing both orders down. "This will be on two separate bills, right?"

I opened my mouth to say yes, but Becca cut me off. She practically screamed, "No, just one!"

People from other tables turned around to stare.

Meg looked at her—actually, it was more of a glare, what was up with that?—and said in a calculated tone, "Yeah, okay then," before walking back to the kitchen with our orders.

I grabbed Becca's arm from across the booth. "What was that?" I hissed. "I'm broke after buying The B, I don't have enough money to pay for you!"

"Of course you do, we can just split a pie." She waved her hand dismissively, looking at the menu. "Does a small half-veggie, half-meat-lovers sound good to you? A bit of everything? Or maybe we could get stuffed crust..."

I was still looking at her in shock. See, this would _never_ happen with Steph. Not only does she always have her own money, but she makes sure that it's always fair between us.

So why the _hell_ did Farmgirl think she could bankrupt me?

Girls. I would never understand them.

"Becca. Buy. Your. Own. Pizza."

She looked up. "Hey, I'm doing this for your own good, you know," was her reply.

For my own good? The only thing that would do me any good right now was a freaking instruction manual for dealing with girls.

Maybe The Book was part of a series. "How to Get a Girlfriend," "How to Understand Girls," "How to Survive High School," "How to Be Popular"…the authors could make a fortune!

Or they could make the guides free online to be nice to the readers.

Nah, who am I kidding. That's crazy.

"How," I wanted to know, "is making me pay for your lunch going to benefit me?"

"That waitress was totally hitting on you. I'm letting her know that you're unavailable."

I was so past confused. "How am I unavailable?" Wait, did she know about Steph?

How could she know?

Had she told Steph?

Was that why Steph was avoiding me? Because she didn't feel the same way and didn't want to be friends anymore?

Oh, man. I was in _way_ over my head.

"You gave me and Steph that whole speech Saturday night, about 'soul mates' and 'love' and how you won't do any of that in high school."

So she _didn't_ know.

Well. That's good.

But now I am officially back to square one on the whole Steph thing.

"Becca, I said I would never date anyone I went to school _with_," I pointed out. "Meg doesn't go to Bloomville High. She either goes to Ernest Pyle, which is unlikely because they started school today too, or she has already graduated. I have no problem with dating a college girl."

Becca looked crushed. I guess she really thought she had been looking out for my best interests. She sniffled and got a little teary-eyed. "Whoa, Becca. It's okay. Just…don't go all obsessive next time, okay?"

"O—kay," she hiccupped. "I need t—o use the ladi—es room," she excused herself, heading to the back of the restaurant.

I ran my hand through the top of my hair, widening my eyes. "Geez," I said aloud.

Everyone seated around our booth looked at me. They probably thought I was schizophrenic, or just insane. I laughed a little bit, which probably added to their suspicions.

I didn't really care. I didn't know any of them.

Meg the Waitress came back to get my order. "One, small, half-veggie, half-meat-lovers pie," I said dejectedly.

"It'll be about ten minutes," she said

Perfect. Leaving ten minutes to eat and then two more to get back to Bloomville High.

This year was starting remarkably well.

"Fine," I glumly answered.

I stared out the window at cars passing by until Becca returned. Her nose was red, and her face was blotchy.

"Have you—were you crying?" I asked in shock.

"No," was her muffled reply.

I decided to let it go. "The pizza should be here in—," I checked my watch, "—two minutes. I got us what you suggested."

She brightened. "That'll be good. Best of both worlds, right?"

"Yeah," I murmured. I wondered if that was what Steph was trying to do. Go between two different worlds: The Infamous Steph Landry and Steph Landry, School Spirit victim.

I was still pondering this when our pie arrived. Taped to the top was our bill for $14.62. I quickly ate, and then went to the counter to pay. Meg the Waitress took my money and the $2 tip with a smile, scribbling something on the bill before sliding it back to me. I walked back to Becca while staring at it.

At the bottom, Meg had scrawled a phone number (which I'm guessing was hers) and the message, "You're hot, call me sometime. XOXO." I looked at the words, and then back at Meg the Waitress in disbelief.

Sure, I felt flattered but this felt sick and disgusting and wrong. I crumpled it into a ball. "Ready to go, Bex?" I asked. She nodded, and we walked to the door.

I threw away the bill in the trash as we passed it. I didn't need some cheap fling. I had the Book.

And The Book would get me Steph.


	10. Chapter 10

_Let's talk about the friend-zone._

It's dreaded, it's feared, it's whispered about in the back of crowded rooms: the infamous friend-zone. Basically, the so-called "friend-zone" is the mythical world of non-dating a guy goes to when he is rejected ("friend-zoned") by a female acquaintance.

But don't complain too much; girls can be stuck there too.

Being friend-zoned, well, sucks.

But what can you do to escape before the portal back to the real world closes? (Metaphorically, of course. If you are actually trapped in another world, you should be consulting our other guide, _How to Survive in a Parallel Dimension_.)

Well, for starters, you have to give your friend space. If you constantly bug her about dating, she will find it annoying and start to distance herself from you as a friend.

Show her what a great guy you are: behave yourself, be kind to others (especially other girls, small children, and baby animals), and wait for her.

This doesn't mean you have to become a priest, but tone down relationships/flings around her so you seem available, but with a "limited time offer" aura.

With any luck, she'll come to her senses and realize all you have to offer, giving you happiness and a girlfriend who already knows your faults and loves you for them.

(Just remember not to act on her declaration of love while you are dating another girl, as she will likely look down on you for cheating.)

So go out there and find your portal!

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

I didn't see Steph for the rest of the day. I was even late for 6th hour Chem because I waited at her locker for her to show, but she never did. I got to The B, thinking she would be there, but I only saw Becca.

She was late.

Sixteen minutes and forty three seconds late, to be exact.

She seemed a little confused, but she slid into the backseat behind Becca without an explanation or an apology. I started driving.

"Did you have a good day, Steph?" I asked in what I _thought_ was a meaningful tone.

Apparently, it wasn't meaningful enough, as Steph started rambling about the talent auction thing. "The whole auction is coming together so well! I got Todd and Darlene and Mark and Lauren to sign up, which is like most of the A-crowd, so we'll make _tons_ of money on them alone. And, oh, this is really funny, when Lauren signed up I wanted to laugh because she just wrote down 'whatever' under talent, which is probably good because not many people would pay to see Lauren kiss—"

I tuned out after awhile and focused on driving. _It'll be fine_, I thought desperately to myself. _She's going to go home, and have an A-crowd detox, and by the time she comes over to my house she'll be normal. She _has_ to be._

"Jason. Señor Hollenbach. Earth to Hawkface." Steph was trying to get my attention.

I grunted in acknowledgement.

"Geez, what's up with you today? Anyway, I was saying how you and Becca could totally sign up for the auction!"

What was up with me? What was up with _her?_

"Jason, you could give golf lessons. People would love it," she continued, cheerfully. "Or you could offer them tours of the observatory. And, Becca, you could hold private scrapbooking seminars."

"No. Freaking. Way," I answered. "No way is Mark Finley going to Kings Island thanks to me. He has to earn it through his own _modeling career_ you started for him, Steph." I was hoping she would pick up on my scathing tone.

I could see Becca shaking her head, looking nervous, out of the corner of my eye. "Oh, no way. I'm not good enough for that. Besides, I don't think my parents would let me, you know. Be auctioned."

"_You're_ not being auctioned. Your talent is," Steph explained.

Becca shook her head again. I rolled my eyes and continued driving home. I dropped Becca first, and then Steph. "You're coming over later, right?"

"Yeah, why not?" she said absentmindedly, grabbing her bag and leaving. She yelled, "See ya!" and waved before walking up on her porch and going inside.

I got back to my house and headed straight up to my room. Or at least, I _tried_ to. My mom and Grandma were in my old room, and they both stuck their heads out the door and yelled "JASON!" when I walked by.

Two screaming women…never a good sign.

I sighed and turned around. "What?" I mock-screamed in reply.

"Get in here, please," my mom called.

I jammed my hands in my pockets and loped into the room. "Yeah?"

"Tux fitting with the Landrys in an hour."

"How do I look?" My grandma was in her wedding dress, twirling.

I shrugged. "Fine…?"

My mom glared at me. "Jason Benjamin Hollenbach, you tell your grandmother she looks beautiful!"

I backed up slowly. "You look beautiful, Grandma!" She didn't look bad, or anything. It was just weird seeing her in the dress.

Grandma looked dejected. "Is it the dress? I _knew_ I should have gone more Audrey Hepburn, less Princess Diana."

"The dress is fine. White. Very wedding-y."

"_Jason_…," my mother said in a warning tone.

"What? I'm a guy. Ask Steph's opinion when she comes over." I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I need to change."

"Alright, dear," Grandma said amicably. "Can you call Steph and tell her to bring her siblings when she comes over?"

I really didn't want to talk to Steph right then. "Mucho homework, gotta work. Sorry," I said before practically dashing out of the room.

I didn't have any homework. It was the first day, how could I? I just needed time to reread The Book to see if there was a section on sudden insanity.

Forty-two minutes later, I concluded that no, it did not.

Laughing and talking voices had been echoing up my hallway for a while. Steph and Pete and Robbie and Catie were here. I decided to grab a bowl of cereal and make an appearance.

We were out of good kinds, so I settled for Honey Nut Cheerios and headed back into my old room. I passed Pete and Robbie in the hallway. They had obviously just been given the okay to change, because they were both half-stripping as they made their way to the bathroom.

Pete stopped when he saw me. He elbowed Robbie and said, "Hey, J-man," in a deep voice.

"Keep trying, man, your voice will change someday," I laughed. He looked down and kept walking, dragging Robbie along behind him.

In the room, Steph and Catie were trying on their matching dresses.

Steph looked absolutely beautiful. She was in her princess dress, which was low (but not too low) cut. The shade of pink made her look like Ariel, her favorite Disney princess, and her hair was starting to frizz.

She was my Steph. And she was perfect.

"…speaking of Jason, where IS that boy? We have to make sure his tuxedo fits, too," Grandma was saying as I walked in.

"Here I am, Grandma," I replied. I would have waved, but I was still holding my cereal bowl. I was glad about that, though. It gave me something to do with my hands so they weren't awkwardly just hanging at my sides.

Grandma sighed. "Oh, Jason. What's your mother going to say when your supper's spoiled?" she teased.

I gave my normal response: "I'll be hungry again by dinnertime."

"Must be nice, right, Stephanie? To be able to eat like a horse and never gain an ounce?" she called to Steph with a wink.

Steph opened her mouth to shoot back with her usual snarky comment (probably something about me looking like one too), but she shook her head a little and didn't say anything.

Grandma held out a garment bag. "You—out. Change in the bathroom."

"Your wish is my command," I said, scooping it up and following her orders.

When I returned (still eating my Cheerios), I struck a superhero pose as a joke. Grandma rolled her eyes, but Steph looked at me with wide eyes and sucked in a breath through her teeth.

That must be what the book meant about showing a girl friend what you have to offer.

One step closer to getting Steph.


	11. Chapter 11

_Guys who easily date girls…_

Never:

*Act rude or condescending toward women, including their mothers and/or sisters.

*Make offensive jokes.

*Use vulgar language in the presence of women.

*Tease or mock girls.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Pete was talking, but I wasn't really paying attention. I was more concerned with Steph's reaction to me. I smirked a little, imagining what Steph was thinking.

_Wow. Jason looks great! He looks…hot. I wish we were alone. Then, I could tell him how great he looks, and we could…_

Bad Jason. Very bad Jason.

I tried to focus on what Pete was saying. "…ten cylinders, 383 lb.-ft. maximum torque—it's the BOMB," he finished animatedly, looking at me with wide eyes and a grin on his face.

"I know," I replied, hoping it was the right answer. I continued to eat my cereal.

Mrs. Lee adjusted my cummerbund. "My, don't you look sharp!" she fussed, tugging to make it even. "The girls will be all over you!"

I smiled wryly. _If only._

"What about your parents, Stephanie?" Grandma asked breezily. "Any chance they'll be joining us Saturday after all?"

Bad subject. Steph's parents, mostly her mother, were boycotting Grandma and Mr. Kazoulis's wedding because Mr. Kazoulis had sold his home to the state to build the new I-69, and a Super Sav-Mart had been built next to the I-69, and the Super Sav-Mart sold books cheaper than Courthouse Square Books, so Courthouse Square Books wasn't making as much money.

It doesn't make sense to me either.

I guess it's still impossible to understand women when they're older.

Steph, regrettably, looked away from me, staring at the ground instead. "I don't think so," she muttered.

Grandma looked defeated for a moment and sighed, before straightening up and smiling brightly again. "Oh, well. You never know. There's still time. I'm holding places for them at the reception, just in case. Jason, darling, are you going to get your hair cut before the wedding, or are you going to let it hang in your eyes like that?"

I had looked up when she said my name, and I shook my head a bit so my hair would hang even more in my face. "I thought I might wear it like this," I replied cheekily. Grandma smiled, and I combed my bangs in front of my eyes with my fingers.

"Oh, Jason," she said as Pete and Robbie giggled.

I looked up at Steph and she smiled at me. In that instant, life made sense, the stars were aligned, and I knew I was making progress.

In the next, Catie picked up my cat, Steph came to Mr. Softy's rescue, Mrs. Lee left to help Catie get changed, and Grandma offered us ice-cream sandwiches.

In ten seconds, everyone was gone except Steph and me. None of the perfectness of that one instant remained, making our lingering silence increasingly awkward.

Steph and I hadn't had an awkward silence since…well, forever. We _always_ found something to talk about, whether it was the most famous person we had ever seen in person (me: the guy from the Allstate commercials when I went to California; Steph: the Crown Prince of Genovia leaving The Plaza when she went to New York) or our dream celebrity smackdowns (me: Bruce Willis vs Uncle Machete from Spy Kids; Steph: Chuck Norris vs The Rock).

Steph looked a little peeved, and maybe I did too. After all, my best friend, the girl I've been in love with _forever_, ditched me to hang out with A-crowders and allowed her possibly insane friend to destroy a perfectly good pair of Chuck Taylors. Just thinking about what had happened at the assembly made my blood boil.

"Did you see what she did?" I said loudly.

"Who?" Steph asked confusedly.

"Your friend Becca," I half-spat, fuming. I stuck out my converse-covered right foot to show her. Steph examined it, looking bored. "On the tops, man! She drew on the _tops_!" I stressed.

"So?" Steph asked, rolling her eyes. "Is your tongue broken? You could have asked her to stop."

"I didn't want to hurt her feelings," I explained. "You know how she is. All _sensitive_."

"You are _not_ laying the blame for this one on me," Steph said, almost laughingly.

"Why not?" I exploded. "She's _your_ friend!"

"She's your friend too" is what Steph returned with. "Or wasn't she the one who you took to Pizza Hut for lunch today?"

Really? Steph was _really_ going to bring up lunch today?

"Oh, like that wasn't a living nightmare!" I exploded. "I'm telling you, there's something weird going on with that girl. Something even weirder than—"

My mouth snapped shut. I was suddenly aware that the voices in the kitchen were quiet, and that Steph and I were yelling in each other's faces.

Steph was close enough to touch.

She was close enough to kiss.

She stared at me. "Go on," she dared.

"No." I couldn't finish my sentence. "Nothing. Look, I gotta…"

"What?" she yelled. There were almost tears in her eyes, and I felt terrible. "Just say it! Something weirder than what's going on with me. That's what you were going to say. Right?"

"Well," I started, knowing that every word was getting me further and further from where I wanted to be, "you said it. Not me. But, now that you mention it, yeah. What happened to you? What was all that today? I though you hated that stuff!"

I had been fumbling with my cummerbund while I talked, and Steph had been eyeing it instead of looking at me. "Here, let me do that," she said, reaching over and undoing my cummerbund. I was glad that I had finished talking, because I'm not sure I could have said something that didn't sound like "gegogaaah." I held my breath and tried to control my emotions.

"I don't see what's wrong with giving the school spirit thing a try. I mean, not all of us are happy about being a social reject."

This was news to me. I twisted around to get a better look at her. "I thought you loved being a social reject." Didn't she? "'Merry Christmas, Mr. Potter?' Remember? We have fun being social rejects."

We were so much better than the "popular" people. I mean, we actually had _futures_ to look forward to outside of Bloomville. We didn't have to worry about getting one of the coveted slots as fry cook at the local Steak n' Shake. We could have fun going to the observatory, or hanging out at the Coffee Pot, or just lying under the stars on The Hill.

We were ourselves. And that's what made us great.

That's why I always had the best times with Steph.

"I know," Steph said slowly. "I just…I'm tired of being a Steph, you know?"

She's tired of being a _Steph_?

Someone needed to show Steph her birth certificate again to clear up the confusion.

"But that's your NAME."

"I know," she replied. "But I'm sick of that girl. I want to be someone different."

Why? Steph was already amazing. She was funny and smart and beautiful, and I was in love with "that girl", not any other Steph.

I opened my mouth to tell her—not the whole love thing, but the "she's already fantastic" part—but she cut me off. "And not Crazytop, criminal mastermind, either. I want to be Steph Landry…but a different Steph Landry. A Steph Landry who's…well…popular," she said, not meeting my flabbergasted gaze.

Of _course _she wants to be popular. If she's popular, than she gets the chance to be the lucky girl who marries Mark Finley, pops out a couple future Bloomville High quarterbacks, and becomes assistant manager at the Penguin on Main.

Because those are the kind of _high _hopes each and every person at Bloomville High has.

The Penguin part, not the popping out fully developed jocks part.

"Popular? _Popular?_" I was pretty mad, and my full-out screaming showed it. Steph was so much more than those people!

Mrs. Lee walked out of the guest room, wincing, as if we would hit her or something. "Stephanie," she started in an apprehensive tone, "do you think you could come in here and convince your sister to take off her dress? She seems to want to keep it on until the wedding."

"Sure," Steph replied. "Talk to you later, Jase." She handed me my cummerbund and followed a relieved looking Mrs. Lee into the room.

"Yeah," I said, still refusing to believe that Mark the Idiot had turned my best friend into an A-Crowd wannabe. "Whatever."

I watched her leave, staring at the place she had last been until Mr. Softy dug his claws into my leg to say hi. I picked up my gigantic cat and headed upstairs to see if The Book had a section on curing zombies.

* * *

A/N: I know this chapter was a little more angsty than usual, but I felt like this was when Jason decided to start to give up on Steph and accept that she was changing. A little depressing, but we all know how it turns out!

Props if you caught the reference to another of Meg's works (it was pretty straightforward).

Anyway, _review, review review_!

Reviews are like coffee for my fingers; it wakes them up and makes them go super fast.

Plus, you know, I like reviews too :D

So click the button below and tell me what you think!

~IceCreamGurl6455


	12. Chapter 12

_So you think you've met the girl of your dreams—but she doesn't seem to know you're alive?_

No problem!

A surefire way to get the opposite sex's attention is to SMILE!

Operation Smile:

The power of the smile is amazing and cannot be overemphasized. A single, dazzling smile in the direction of your crush can do more than anything else to get her attention.

So brush your pearly whites and start practicing smiling. (Note: you're going for a devilishly handsome grin, not a stalk-her-in-the-woods creepy smile!) The next time you pass her in the hallway, show those dimples!

You can bet she'll be trying to sit with you at the next assembly and asking for your number by the end of the week.

* * *

Chapter Twelve

"Dude, that Becca chick is _hot_."

I pulled my head off my desk and blinked blearily at Stuckey. "What?"

"Becca. She's hot."

"We're talking about Becca. Rebecca Taylor. Farmgirl. She who wore the overalls to the graduation dance." I couldn't believe we were talking about the same person.

"Yeah. She's smokin'. Could you, I dunno, set us up or something?"

"Um...sure. Right after I call the psych ward to come get you," I replied, shaking my head.

Mrs. Monnek, my health teacher, looked up from her romance novel to give Stuckey and me a stern glare. "Boys," she warned before returning to Fabio's latest conquests.

We waited for about a minute before continuing. "So you aren't going to help me with Becca? Aw, man, this blows!"

"You're seriously interested in her?" I asked skeptically. I mean, sure, Becca used to be nice…before she went all weird.

I think she's getting worse.

She didn't say anything today on the car ride to school.

Who does that? Not even a "hello" or a "goodbye" or a "gee, Jason, thanks so much for driving me to school today." She didn't even make a sound. No coughs, sneezes, or sighs.

It's getting creepy.

Steph said I should relax. But even she found it disturbing. I could tell because she seemed all distracted, and Mark Finley wasn't even around. He and Lauren had decided to skip first hour so they could get buy one get one free Grand Slamwiches at Denny's.

Mark the Idiot and Lauren the Skank hadn't even called in sick. If it were anyone else, say, me, for instance, I would be suspended and grounded.

I bet the Precocious Couple of Bloomville High won't even get a tardy.

"I didn't say that. I just want you to make sure you are _absolutely sure about this_ before you do anything drastic." Such as encouraging a conversation with Becca.

"Dude, I'm sure. She's in, like, my top five."

"Who else is in your top five?" I was pretty curious. Plus, I wanted to make sure that Steph was nowhere near Stuckey's "list".

"Let's see…Buffy the Vampire Slayer—"

Not going to argue there.

"—Veronica Mars—"

Again, a good choice.

"—Britney Spears–"

Not my type, but I can understand.

"—Mila Kunis—"

A little iffy, but still fine.

"—and Becca."

Why did he like her?

I sighed. "Great until the last one."

"Oh, and your list is better?"

Great. I would be checking both myself _and_ Stuckey into Bellevue. "List? I don't _have_ a list."

"Then make one. Right now."

"Oh, geez—"

"Boys!" Mrs. Monnek was glaring at us again.

I raised my hands in surrender. "Sorry, sorry."

"Make up a list!" Stuckey hissed. I groaned.

Okay, girls I like…well, there's Steph. And Steph. Also, Steph. And, ooh, don't want to forget about Steph.

I am pathetic.

I am beyond pathetic.

Who could I put on my list?

I watched Firefly…and Buffy…and That 70's Show…and Friends…and Third Rock from the Sun…

I guess I could make a bit of a list.

"Um, Fred from Angel, Rachel and Monica from Friends, Christina Aguilera, and—"

I broke off. I had almost said, "and Steph."

Which would have been a _huge_ mistake.

You see, I hadn't exactly told Stuckey about the whole me-being-in-love-with-Steph thing. I figured that he would eventually figure it out on his own, when Steph and I held up an "Engaged!" sign at a Hoosiers game in a few years.

But I couldn't tell him. Especially now that I had The Book and was working on The Plan.

Stuckey wasn't known for his tact. He could ruin everything.

"And…?" Stuckey prodded.

"And, no one. I only have four people on my list." I prayed that it would work.

"Why would you only have four people on your list?" Stuckey asked slowly.

"I just…only have four," I said.

"But…hey, are you gay?" he demanded.

"_What?_" I hissed.

Todd Rubin whirled around. "You're gay, Hollenschnoz?"

"No, I'm not gay, Toddrick. Now go back to failing the class." Todd sneered back at me but turned back to his hidden Playboy.

"So why are there only four girls on your list?" Stuckey asked again.

"Because there just are," I responded, rifling through my backpack to find my sociology textbook.

"I think you have a secret girlfriend," he replied.

I snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Then you have a secret crush on someone."

I froze. "Suuuuuure," I drawled. He couldn't know, could he? "Right, I have a secret crush on someone. Of course! I'm _totally_ in love with someone." I laughed nervously.

"Is it Becca?" Stuckey sounded nervous.

"_Farmgirl_? No way!" I spat. "Mental pictures, _so_ many bad mental pictures. Gee, thanks Stuckey!"

"Good. So, you'll help me?"

I sighed and closed my eyes. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

"Thanks, man!" Stuckey sounded genuinely grateful.

He was definitely riding on the crazy train.

"I think she's coming out to lunch with me, and maybe Steph, today. Wanna come?"

"Sure. That'd be great."

The bell rang, and I trudged out of the classroom and into the mass of humanity that was a high school hallway. What had I gotten myself into? Lunch with Stuckey and Farmgirl?

If I didn't speed up The Plan, those two alone would drive me insane.

* * *

Meh. I really don't like how this chapter turned out. I will probably rewrite it when I have time after I've finished posting all the chapters for this fic.


	13. Chapter 13

**This chapter is dedicated to TheImaginationAddict.**

_Planets orbit around the sun—girls orbit around "sunny" boys!_

Who doesn't love being around a genuinely happy, cheerful person? No one!

That's why it's important, if you want to attract girls, to radiate with enthusiasm and warmth in every situation.

Don't let storms cloud your outlook on life. Keep the skies clear and your mood upbeat, and soon all the girls will be clamoring to bask in your glow.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

Stuckey didn't shut up during lunch.

"Do you know who the best basketball player of all time was?" he demanded. "Cal Cheaney. Anyone who says Scott May was better is either joking or in denial."

I leaned my head against the back of the booth, wishing Steph had ditched the A-crowd to hang with us "little people." But if she would rather talk to Darlene "My-Hair-Dye-Has-Completely-Seeped-Into-My-Brain" Staggs than Becca and me, maybe we were better off eating without her.

Somehow, though, I didn't think that this lunch could get any worse.

"Stuckey, how long ago did Cal what's-his-face play for IU?" Becca asked patronizingly.

"Thirteen years ago!" Stuckey replied enthusiastically.

"So you watched basketball when you were four?"

Stuckey shrugged. "I guess so. Maybe it's genetic."

"Your parents moved here from DC when you were a year old," Becca pointed out.

"Then I must just be awesome," he retorted. "So, Becca, what is your favorite college basketball team?"

"I don't watch basketball," she said primly. "I do better things with my time, such as scrapbooking, cross-stitching, and studying."

"You scrapbook? My sister April does that, too," said Stuckey.

"It's very popular," Becca responded. "Do you scrapbook, Jason?"

I stared at her in disbelief. "No…?" Because I'm not a _girl_.

Even if I have recently been thinking like one.

"I think scrapbooking is very creative," Stuckey tried again.

Becca was about to respond when Meg the Waitress brought us our breadsticks and personal pizzas. "Thanks," I said. She ignored me.

I guess that's what happens when a girl flirts with you and you completely reject her.

It's weird. If a girl did that to a guy, he would like her even more.

Maybe that's why I like Steph so much. Because I'm a guy.

I wonder if the other guys have noticed her. I hope not.

I wonder if Mark the Idiot is making a move on Steph right now. He doesn't seem like the monogamy type.

Great, there goes my appetite.

I pushed my "everything" pizza away and excused myself to the bathroom. Becca looked mildly concerned, but Stuckey flashed a double thumbs-up and mouthed, "Thanks, man."

I was the only person in the bathroom, so I just stood in front of the sink. I splashed cold water on my face and tried to calm myself down.

There was no way Steph and Mark the Idiot were doing anything at all. Steph wouldn't do that, even though she hated Lauren. She had more class than that.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Who was I kidding? Steph would never like me. Sure, we could be friends, but never more. My nose was too big, my face was too long, my eyes were too brown…I wasn't boyfriend material.

I was friend material. I was completely Parent Approved.

I was boring and predictable.

Even The Plan couldn't help me.

I rubbed my tired eyes. _No, _I thought, _that's ridiculous. Steph wouldn't do that to me. She would _at least _hear me out._

I repeated that in my head, over and over, like some sort of magic spell.

Maybe, my words would summon Emma Watson to whisk me away to Hogwarts.

But I would settle for a love potion.

I sighed and left the men's room as two huge bikers ambled in.

One, with very visible a Tet Offensive tattoo started talking as the door was swinging shut. "Y'all might want to duck and cover, because I'm going to take the biggest sh—"

Contrary to popular belief, not all guys are pigs.

But sixty year old bikers aren't exactly the type to mince words.

I made my way to the table and saw Becca and Stuckey staring in opposite directions, not talking.

_Crap._

Oh well. I had been against it from the start.

"Ready to go?" I asked.

I turned around and walked away before they even said "Yes!"

As we drove back to school, I tried to make small talk. "So, how was the pizza?"

Fine, Jason. We loved it so much that we won't FREAKING TALK TO EACH OTHER anymore.

"Last time, that waitress acted all weird."

She was totally flirting with me. And then Becca went even _more_ insane.

Maybe it's a chick thing.

"Oh, Becca, I have to pick up some stuff for my Grandma's wedding after school, so you and Steph will have to get a ride. You can take the bus, I guess."

"Hey, man, can I come? It's either that or cart my little sister around all night, and if I am dragged to the Disney Store _one more time_ to try on plastic tiaras, my masculinity will be damaged FOREVER." Stuckey looked completely serious.

Farmgirl snorted, but I nodded in agreement.

Disney princess dress-up was the ultimate low point in a guy's life.

"Why not?" I shrugged. "That way, if Grandma doesn't like something, I can blame it on you."

"All right!" Stuckey said, giving himself a fistbump.

I shook my head. Again with his weirdness.

Maybe I was wrong about the whole Becca-and-Stuckey-not-being-perfect-for-each-other thing. They were near the same level of weirdness.

Another reason me and Steph were perfect for each other: we each had an insanely weird who we tolerated when no one else did.

I pulled into the Bloomville High parking lot and stopped by the main doors to let Farmgirl and Stuckey jump while I found a parking spot. "Find me after school so we can hit the road as soon as possible!" I yelled as Stuckey ran inside. He flashed me a thumbs-up.

I shook my head. Steph probably would have been a better choice to take shopping. After all, she _was_ a girl. Plus, I would get to spend more time with her. And didn't girls always plan their own weddings in advance or something?

What was I thinking, taking Stuckey with me, when I could keep impressing Steph with my sensitive side while getting the wedding supplies?

But it was too late. Steph was out and Stuckey was in.

This could be a huge setback in The Plan. It definitely wouldn't help me any.

At least shopping for bridal stuff would be amusing.

* * *

**Next on _How to Get a_**_** Girlfriend**: _Jason and Stuckey go wedding shopping AKA why Stuckey is on _Peggy's Bridal Shoppe's _PNG list.


	14. Chapter 14

_Don't get a superiority complex._

Remember, you're trying to impress girls. When a girl pays you attention, accept it gladly!

It's true that not all girls were equally blessed with good looks, brains, athletic prowess, or wealth. But just because someone is lacking in some of these areas doesn't mean they don't deserve respect.

And who knows, she might be the one!

* * *

**Chapter 14**

I wandered around the frilly, white store and tried not to gag. Bridal stores were _definitely_ not on my list of favorite places to be.

Not even at the very bottom.

Stuckey seemed to really dig it, though. He was wandering around the place, totally ignoring me.

Whatever makes him happy. I'm not going to judge.

The lady at the counter had been really nice when we came in. She was middle-aged and looked smart, so I guessed she owned the place. "There's a TV in the back if you want to watch while you're waiting. I think they're showing pre-game coverage for the Colts game," she smiled knowingly. Stuckey had bolted, but I stayed to explain that no, we weren't being dragged here; I just needed to pick up my grandma's place cards and car sign for her wedding.

The woman looked at me with that aww-how-cute! expression that girls get every time they see baby animals or watch chick-flicks.

Hey, don't judge me. I'm the sensitive, caring, pushover type who will shamelessly do anything to spend more time with my Crazytop.

"Okay, honey, just give me her last name, and I'll get that ready for you!" she beamed.

"Um, it's either under Kazoulis or Hollenbach," I said.

I probably should have found out before I left.

Oh, well. It was too late now.

Though the confused look on the woman's face was completely worth it.

"Uh, how do you spell Katrula and Hollack?" she asked hesitantly.

I always found it hilarious when people butchered my last name. Steph did too.

"_Kazoulis_ and _Hollenbach_. K-A-Z-O-U-L-I-S and H-O-L-L-E-N-B-A-C-H."

She typed the names into the ancient Windows '95 PC. "Kitty and Emile Kazoulis?" she asked. I nodded. "It looks like the name cards still need to be printed. I can have them all done in about ten minutes, though. I'm sorry for the delay."

I told her that it was fine and headed for the TV.

And here I was.

It's not that the store looked bad, it just looked too…

I don't know. Bridal, I guess.

Imagine that: a bridal store looking bridal.

The girls I saw seemed to like it all right, though.

I hadn't seen Stuckey in a while, and the name cards were almost ready, so I decided to take one for the team and hunt him down.

After a few minutes of circling the small store, I found a secret passage in the back that led to…

The women's changing rooms.

Complete with a seventeen year old Peeping Tom wearing an IU hoodie.

Crap.

"Stuckey, get over here!" I hissed, sure someone would find us there.

He was in some sort of trance.

"Stuckey, we have to go!" I pleaded, starting to panic.

He still didn't respond.

"Hi there, Becca," I said as a last resort. Stuckey spun around and I guided him toward the hallway.

But it was too late.

Unfortunately, one of the girls in the changing room heard me talking to Stuckey.

Even more unfortunately, her name was apparently Becca.

She walked out, beaming and saying, "Tom, I _told _you, today's your day to do whatever you want. You didn't have to— who are you?"

"Um," I muttered. "We—"

"Hey, I know you!" She was pointing at Stuckey. "You're that guy who was lost and trying to find the bathroom. But what are you—" Her eyes narrowed. "Have you been _spying _on us?"

I groaned. Stuckey stuttered out a "n-no" but the woman clearly wasn't buying it.

"How _dare_ you!" she yelled, spotting the hole in the wall I had found Stuckey in front of. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?"

"I—I'm sorry," Stuckey squeaked.

She stormed back into the dressing room. "Hey everyone, just so you know, there's been this teenage kid watching us change."

My eyes widened. This would _not_ end well. "Run, run now!" I murmured to Stuckey. He didn't need telling twice. He dashed off to the store and left me to deal with the aftermath.

Great.

Becca-the-Bride reappeared through the door, flanked by three other, equally-pissed looking, girls in wedding dresses.

_Attack of the Bridezillas_, anyone?

Becca-the-Bride looked around, _baring her fangs_. "Where is he?" she demanded, _looking bloodthirsty_.

_The other three growled menacingly._

I backed up, toward the hallway, holding my hands up in an I-surrender,-please-don't-eat-me way. "He ran out the backdoor. You can try to catch him, if you want. I had no part in this. I am so, so sorry."

They all looked at the maintenance door Stuckey had "left" through and I ran for it. I guessed that Stuckey was already at The B, because he wasn't anywhere in the store.

But to be honest, if he was too dumb to already be there, he deserved to be devoured by the bridezillas.

Every man for himself, as they say.

I sprinted to the counter, where the confused woman at the counter handed me a bag.

"Your grandmother already paid for this," she told me. "Thank her for choosing Peggy's Bridal Shoppe!" she called as I ran out the door.

Stuckey had made it to The B, after all. I jumped in the driver's seat and we pealed out of the parking lot.

We passed by the side of the building. Four frustrated women in wedding dresses were banging on the back door of the shop.

I guess it automatically locked from the inside.

Oops.

"What was that?" I screamed at Stuckey. "Do you realize how completely insane you are?"

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I just…I don't know. I didn't know. When I looked at the wall and saw what was there, I just froze, I guess. Thanks, though. You're a great friend."

That seemed to be the general opinion of me.

"Don't ever freaking get me involved with something like that again," I warned. "Or I won't help you."

"Okay, man, I won't. Promise," he said quietly.

I dropped him off at his house and headed home. My grandma was there, and she had a strange expression on her face. "Jason, honey, there's a message on the answering machine for you."

Maybe it was Steph.

Maybe it was Becca.

I clicked the blinking orange button and waited with both excitement and dread.

"You have: one unheard message. Message one: Tuesday, August 29, 5:13. Hello, this is Peggy from Peggy's Bridal Shoppe. I'm calling to speak to Jason. There was an incident while you were at the store involving four young women in the back dressing room."

Oh. Well.

I saw Grandma standing at the door, her arms crossed.

_This_ would be a hard one to explain…

"They said that they caught your friend spying on them while they were changing and followed him outside, where they accidentally let the door closed and were locked out of the building. I understand that you had no part in this whatsoever; your friend, however, is a different story. The women have decided not to press charges, but that is completely inappropriate and is not permitted. I will have to call the police if your friend ever comes back to this store. Please relay the message.

"Have a wonderful day!"

I cringed and turned to Grandma. "Well?" she asked.

"There may have been a—slight incident involving Stuckey at the store today."

"Really?" she snipped. "I would have never guessed."

"I'm sorry, Grandma," I said. I really meant it, too.

"How could you let this happen, Jason? I thought you had more sense than this." She sounded disappointed.

"I don't know. I guess I lost track of Stuckey."

She sighed. "That boy…well, you might as well call him and warn him," she said as she left the room.

She was right. I dialed Stuckey's number and waited for him to answer. "Hey man, it's Jason. You're going to have to find another bridal shop when you and Becca get married…"

* * *

A/N: Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed the shenanigans of Jason and Stuckey. I didn't get much feedback on the last chapter, and I'd like to know how I'm doing, so please leave a comment/review telling me if you liked it, if you didn't, if you think penguins are amazing, what your favorite color is, your favorite Meg book, what I can improve on, or anything else you think is interesting.

Also, as a side note, I have expanded the number of chapters that will be in this fic; I know I gave some people a rough estimate of 23 chapters, but now it will be at least 25. That means it should be completed 26 August-ish.

Just in case you were wondering.

Thanks for reading!

~IceCreamGurl6455


	15. Chapter 15

**This chapter is dedicated to Quirkista.**

* * *

_The eyes have it!_

You may not be aware of it, but your eyes are your most powerful attribute.

Eyes are windows to the soul. So next time a girl looks you in the eye, don't be shy—look right back at her!

She'll see who you really are, and you'll be closer to her heart.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

I got up early to check the answering machine, just in case there were any more "interesting" messages for me. When there weren't, I grabbed a bowl of Wheaties and added orange juice.

Hey, I like a balanced breakfast.

And I'm a champion.

I made sure to get to Steph's house a full five and a half minutes before normal. She was standing on the porch, waiting for me. Farmgirl was nowhere in sight.

Thank God. After yesterday, I needed a break from anything named Becca.

I lowered the volume of "Killing Me Softly", which was playing on the radio, and rolled down the window to talk to Steph.

She was wearing dark skinny jeans.

I was suddenly glad that we had the car door between us.

"Nice pants," I said, almost stuttering. I swallowed hard.

"Thanks," she replied. Steph wasn't smiling, which was weird, because she's normally a pretty happy person and is always laughing at something.

Maybe she had heard about what happened at the bridal shop…

Stuckey was getting a freaking muzzle for his birthday.

What if he hadn't even told her the right story? What if he made her think _I _was the bad guy.

She probably thought I was disgusting. Evil. Perverted and awful.

Steph and Becca wouldn't even trust me to drive them.

"Well, are you getting in, or what?" I asked, feeling frustrated. If she and Farmgirl didn't need me to drive them, I could go beat up Stuckey sooner. "Where's Bex?"

Steph pouted.

_Please stop pouting oh God why are you pouting just stop it, stop it now, I beg you NO MORE POUTING!_

"Becca's dad is driving us to school this morning. We figured after yesterday, you were no longer interested in the position."

So this wasn't about the bridal shop. Stuckey would live another day.

Wait. Position?

_Positions and pouting—stop pouting, Crazytop!—creative positions, Steph in creative positions—no stop it Jason stop it right now me and Steph in creative—STOP IT—puzzle pieces—for the LOVE OF GOD pull yourself together—snap out of it, snapping, yelling and anger and making up and—no Jason, position, some position, Steph talking about positions—_

"What position?" I choked out, wincing at my word choice.

Oh, well. At least I formed a sentence.

"Of our chauffeur," she explained.

I moved my hair out of my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. _Focus, Hollenbach. You can do this. Deep breaths._

I obeyed the voice in my head—who happened to sound a _lot_ like Morgan Freeman—and took three great gulps of air.

It really did help.

Thanks, Mr. Freeman.

But what did Steph mean, I wasn't their chauffeur anymore? Is there no such thing as tenure?

In a controlled tone, I said, "I told Becca that I had some errands to run. That doesn't mean that I never want to give you guys rides, ever. I just couldn't do it yesterday afternoon."

"Uh-huh…" Steph said.

"I had to pick up the place cards from the calligrapher's for Grandma. For the tables at the reception."

"Suuuuuure you did," Steph answered sarcastically.

"And then I had to drop some stuff off at the printer. And, I mean, it's not like you guys couldn't take the bus. It drops you off in front of your house, practically!"

I didn't understand why Steph was throwing such a fit about it.

Steph started talking again. "Of course it does. I mean, if you'd told us enough in advance, then we could have gotten in front of the school to pick it up."

Crap. Becca hadn't told Steph and they had missed the bus.

I swear the universe hates me.

"You missed the bus?" I felt awful.

"Yes. But that's okay. We got a ride in Lauren Moffat's car."

No.

No.

No

Not the 645Ci.

"Not the 645Ci."

She smirked. "That'd be the one."

I punched my steering wheel. Who was Steph turning into?

"What is going on?" I demanded. I didn't care who heard me. "What _happened _to you? Why are you acting so _weird?_" I practically screamed.

Steph was surprisingly calm. "I could ask you the very same question," she replied.

I was beyond furious. "I'm not the one acting weird! _You _are. And Becca—she won't quit following me around! It's like having a freaking puppy on my heels all the damned time! And you—since when do you get rides home from LAUREN MOFFAT?"

Steph glanced behind me. I saw in my rearview mirror that the Taylors' Cadillac had pulled up behind me. Her dad honked the horn lightly. "That's my ride," she said. "I gotta go." She ran off and left me staring after her.

Great. Just freaking wonderful.

Sometimes, life sucked.

I stayed away from Becca, Stuckey, and Steph for the rest of the day. I got a burger from Sonic for lunch and ate in my car.

Yep, I felt like a loser.

I reread The Book when I got home, and the best advice I could find was to just keep trying.

I kept repeating that in my head as I went to sleep that night.

No one ever said love was easy, right?


	16. Chapter 16

**This chapter is dedicated to AinsleyWright.**

* * *

_Everyone has a talent. So how can you impress girls with yours?_

By doing something you enjoy, of course! If you're a closet cook, whip up a three course meal to share with your future girlfriend. If outer space is your thing, make the girl you like a star chart of the upcoming month, and offer to show her the night sky sometime. If you are a star athlete, invite your girl to a game and give her your jersey to wear.

Your great talents will make you unique and set you apart from everyone else.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

Even though I was opposed to the talent auction, I went to it.

I wasn't planning on bidding on anyone, but I knew it was important to Steph and I wanted to support her.

Also, that's what the book had suggested.

I hadn't seen Steph all day. When I asked Mrs. Landry where she was, I was told that Steph hadn't been home after school because she was working on the auction.

And it looked like she had done a great job.

The gym was _packed_. It seemed like everyone from Bloomville was there.

I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Stuckey and I stood towards the back, near the doors. We saw Steph up by the podium. Steph saw Mark, sitting in the bleachers in front of us. She smiled and waved at him. He didn't wave back.

He absolutely didn't deserve her.

"Hey, Jase, do you know if Becca is going to be in the auction?" Stuckey asked worriedly as we made our way to the worst seats in the gym.

"I dunno," I answered. "I didn't really think about it. Yeah, probably." If her parents let her, that is.

"Crap. I don't have any money." Stuckey paled. "What if someone else buys her?"

I mentally rolled my eyes. Because who in their right mind would buy Farmgirl?

Even someone _happens_ to like scrapbooking, they can pick up supplies at Get Scrappin' and check the interwebs for help.

No one would _pay_ for lessons, and especially not from a sixteen-year-old. "Chill, Stuckey. Your girl will be fine."

"But Jase, I want to _buy_ her!" he whined.

I arched an evebrow and said, "I sincerely hope you meant that in a completely less pervy way than it came out."

Stuckey grinned. " 'Jason, as boys grow, they have _needs…_' " he replied, mocking the ancient puberty filmstrip we were forced to watch in Health last year.

I winced. "I will loan you the money is you promise _never_ to say anything remotely like that ever again," I offered desperately.

"Deal!" he said triumphantly.

I sighed, shaking my head. Why was I friends with him?

To be honest, I have no idea. I guess it's just convenient.

It seemed like every person at Bloomville High had volunteered for something. I felt kind of bad for not doing it. But then again, I didn't really have any talents except getting taller and supporting the weight of my gigantic nose.

Darlene Staggs was going to give Mrs. Rubin, Todd's mom, a makeover. Gordon Wu would teach one of the younger Harley kids how to use the computer. I cracked up when Mr. Schneck proclaimed that "seventeen-year-old Lauren Moffat will do…whatever. Miss Moffat, a minor, will do whatever you want her to do. Please remember that in this situation, section IC 35-42-4-7 of the Indiana Code of Conduct would raise the age of consent to 18, which young Lauren is not."

A lot of the older guys put down their Day Mortuary donated paper bidding fans, looking dejected.

Mark Finley got her for thirty-three bucks.

Stuckey poked me, hard, in the ribs. "It's Becca! I can bid on her!" he said excitedly.

"Calm yourself," I said. I got my wallet out of my back pocket.

"How much do you have?"

"I don't know." He was really irritating me with the poking and the chipperness. "Why don't you let me freaking count it?"

"I want to bet a hundred on her," Stuckey rambled. "No—a hundred and _fifty_. No—all of it!"

"Whatever, dude. You're paying me back."

"Count the money," he ordered.

"Fine," I grumbled.

"Hurry up!" he whined as I counted _one_, _two_, _three_ twenties*. "Someone might bid on her!"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Relax, man."

No one had even raised their fans a tiny bit for Farmgirl. I felt a little bad. But Stuckey was apparently ready to give his life savings to buy her.

Of course, no one else was even bidding.

I totaled up my money as someone put up their fan. "We have a bid of ten dollars. Do I hear fifteen? Fifteen dollars, anyone?"

I looked at the owner of the fan. It was Becca's dad.

Well, wasn't that…absolutely mortifying for her.

"Jase!" hissed Stuckey. "How much?"

I saw Steph whisper something to Mark Finley and pretended that the pang in my heart was completely unrelated. "One hundred and sixty-two dollars. And fifty-eight cents, but—"

"Hand it over," Stuckey snarled. He looked around frantically for his bidding fan.

Mark's hand went up. _Mark Finley_ was bidding on Becca.

I gave up trying to understand what the _hell_ was going on at Bloomville High.

"Fifteen dollars! We have fifteen dollars for the young lady's scrapbooking genius from the school quarterback. Do I hear twenty?"

The gym was absolutely quiet except for the lovely sound of Stuckey cussing.

"Twenty dollars, folks. Anyone care to bid twenty dollars? No? Becca Taylor's scrapbooking tutelage going for fifteen dollars, everyone. Fifteen dollars."

Stuckey found the fan. He looked at me with panic in his eyes. "_I can't do this!_" he whispered.

"_Do it!_" I hissed back. He was _not_ going to back out now.

"Going once."

Stuckey was wide-eyed.

"Going twice."

He shook his head emphatically. "No," he mouthed.

"Sol—"

I grabbed my wallet and the fan from Stuckey. "A hundred and sixty-two dollars and fifty-eight cents!" I shouted to the world.

Well, maybe not the _world_, but that's what it felt like.

Everyone turned to look at me. Becca was beaming. Steph looked…shocked.

"SOLD!" proclaimed Mr. Schneck. "To—to—that guy up there, for one hundred sixty-two dollars and fifty-eight cents!"

Great. He didn't even know my name. We had lived in the same town for seventeen years, and he didn't even know my first name.

But then again, should I really be surprised?

Stuckey pounded his fist on my shoulder. "Thanks, man. I just froze, I guess. We can explain what happened to Becca tomorrow or something," he said, because she had already skipped down from the podium and everybody's favorite quarterback was up for sale.

"You know what? Why don't you just go catch up with her now?" I encouraged.

Stuckey lit up. "Oh, yeah! See you later, Hollenbach," he waved.

I settled back in my seat and watched the next fiasco occur.

"And now, all you Bloomville Fishes, the moment I know you've been waiting for—next up for auctioning off, the spokesperson talents of senior class president, team captain and quarterback, last year's Most Valuable Player and all-around great guy, MARK FINLEY!"

Sure, Mr. Schneck. Of course you know _his_ name.

I hate Bloomville sometimes.

* * *

*For non-US readers: "Twenties" refers to multiple twenty dollar bills (in US$). It might be confusing when used in this context; Jason is counting how much money he has.


	17. Chapter 17

**This chapter is dedicated to my anonymous reviewer, Poof.**

* * *

_A good relationship can be compared to a house._

It has walls, a strong foundation, and many different rooms.

The more deeply the foundation is sunk, the stronger the walls are, and the more rooms that can be added on.

This is why, just like no house can stand on a weak foundation, no relationship can succeed without a solid base. Meaningful relationships need to have history to work.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

Mark sauntered up to the stage. Steph clapped and cheered. Lauren kept on shrieking to drown out Steph's voice.

And me? Well, I made a very creative hand gesture toward Mark that gave him _much_ more credit than he deserved.

"All right, folks, simmer down, simmer down," Mr. Schneck was saying.

'_Simmer down, y'all. We wouldn't want to miss one word our little Marky-Poo has to say.'_

"We know you all love Mark."

'_Y'all want to be his love slaves, I'm sure.'_

"Now it's time to see how much you REALLY love him."

_Want me to show you, Mr. Schneck?_

"Mark has generously volunteered his time for use as an endorser of some lucky business…"

_Really lucky, that company. Such a great, _celebrity_ endorsement._

"So let's find out who that lucky business owner is!"

_What's that? Lauren Moffat wants Mark Finley to advertise for her father's BMW dealership? Amazing, folks. Did anyone see that one coming?_

"We'll start the bidding at—"

Lauren Moffat held up her fan and squawked, "A hundred dollars!"

Am I psychic or what?

But then other people also started bidding. Actual business owners.

Lauren looked irritated as she thrusted her bidding fan back in the air and yelled more numbers.

Mr. Schneck tried to regain control of the crowd. "Um, folks, I haven't even—"

What an amateur.

"A hundred and twenty!"

"A hundred and forty!"

"One hundred and sixty," called Lauren.

"One eighty," yelled our slightly promiscuous and scandal-ridden mayor.

"Two hundred," Lauren replied.

"Two twenty." The Mayor apparently needed a high school student to assure people that his law firm was the best around.

Oh, Bloomville. You never stop trying to outdo yourself.

Lauren hopped down from her seat. Taking out her checkbook, she said in a loud voice, "Five hundred thirty-two dollars and seventeen cents."

Mark grinned.

I was happy. I really was.

Lauren and Mark could go off and do their thing, and Steph would be nowhere near them.

_Just as it should be._

Steph stood up. Staring directly at Mark, she said in a neutral tone, "A thousand dollars."

Everyone gasped.

Including me.

"No!" I whispered.

But it was already done.

Who was I kidding? I would _never _be a match for Mark Finley. He was athletic and handsome and popular and completely everything Steph deserved.

And I…wasn't.

The book couldn't change who I was. It couldn't make Steph like me if she wasn't interested.

And clearly she had her eyes set on a way better prize.

I got up and started to leave. I had seen everything I needed to, and I really didn't need my heart to be injured any more than it already was.

"I beg your pardon, Stephanie?" Mr. Schneck was saying. "Did you just say a thousand dollars?"

"That's right. Courthouse Square Books bids a thousand dollars on Mark Finley."

I felt like I was hearing her words through a tunnel. Blood was pounding, pulsing through my ears.

_I'm sure Courthouse Square Books' owner knows you're bidding on Mark the Idiot, Steph._

Mark looked shocked, confused, and a little stoned.

In other words, normal.

Lauren, on the other hand, was spitting mad.

I froze, standing near the gym doors. Even though my heart couldn't stand another beating, I really wanted to see Lauren Moffat get really angry and lose it.

I was torn.

Should I hurt myself and have a good laugh? Or should I just cut my losses and head home to eat ice cream and watch _Boy Meets World _to learn a valuable life lesson and drown my life's sorrows?

Decisions, decisions.

In the end, however, I stayed.

Mr. Schneck leaned into his mic. "The little lady in the front bids a thousand dollars. Do I hear a thousand twenty? Anyone? Going for a thousand, then."

Lauren was almost sobbing into her new cell, "But Daddy, you don't understand! It's for a really good cause—"

Mr. Schneck raised his gavel and said, "Going once. Going twice—"

"And I'll _never_ ask you for anything ever again! I swear, if you'll just—"

"SOLD," proclaimed Mr. Schneck, "to Stephanie Landry of Courthouse Square Books."

Steph looked victorious. Lauren looked vicious.

And then she chucked her brand new cell phone across the gym and it hit the wall not three feet from my head.

Well. If she was aiming (and I honestly don't know if she was, but I can't imagine why she would), Coach Carr would definitely be knocking on her door to ask her to join the softball team.

Steph walked calmly up to the podium. "Hi everyone, I just want to thank you all again for attending Bloomville High's first ever 'Talent Auction'! I really hope you all had a fun time—I know I did!" she gushed.

She sounded just like Little Miss Moffat.

"I'm really hoping this will become an annual thing, because next year I'll be a senior and I'll be raising money for my own trip to Kings Island, and I hope everyone is just this enthusiastic and generous next year!"

I really hope you enjoy that trip, Steph.

Maybe someone will take pictures of all the fun you're having.

"So, on behalf of this year's senior class, the faculty and students of Bloomville High, the student council executive board, and myself, I would like to say thank you for coming. Can we all have a big round of applause for Mr. Schneck, our wonderful auctioneer?"

People clapped.

Wooh-hooh.

Yippee.

Whatever.

"If you've won a talent, please see one of our great volunteers at the back table," Steph said, pointing to the table to her far left. "Good night, everyone, and drive safely!"

The crowd cheered for Steph and she looked startled. But Mark caught her eye and smiled knowingly, so Steph gave a shy little curtsy-bow thing.

It would have been cute…if I had liked Steph anymore, which I absolutely, totally DIDN'T.

Also if Mark hadn't told her to do it.

I was one of the first in line at the prize-claiming table. I silently handed Marcie Staggs my wallet's contents in exchange for a little card announcing me as "the winner of a fabulous prize of: **three hours of scrapbooking lessons—Becca Taylor**."

Then I left the gym and went home and didn't even look at Steph's house to see if she was there yet.

Well, okay, I did. But only a little.

* * *

**A/N: **Hey guys! Thanks for all the support for this story! I've made a Twitter account for my FanFiction stuff, so you can check that out. My UN is IceCreamGurl645 (they cut off the last "5" because apparently UN's can be 15, but not 16, characters. Whatever, Twitter.) and I'll be tweeting whenever I update a story.

So, yeah.

Thanks everyone!

~IceCreamGurl6455


	18. Chapter 18

_There is no such thing as instant love._

"Love at first sight" is a myth. Sure, people can be interested and attracted to each other quickly, but real love takes months, and even years, to fully cultivate.

So don't tell a girl that you love her if it's too soon. Chances are, she'll know that it isn't love (yet!) and not reply with the same level of enthusiasm.

Wait until you're sure it's love. That way, you and she will both be happy!

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

I flipped through The Book and sighed. It had a section about giving up hope that I had been desperately rereading since I had crashed on my bed forty minutes before.

The Book was telling me to "be cautious but hopeful" and "remember the good times", while I "worked to regain her attention."

What a freaking load.

Instead of thinking about my slowly diminishing odds of winning Steph, however, I decided to do a few push-ups and imagine normal Steph was with me.

"_You know, you really should put some clothes on."_

"_Why? Do you feel…too tempted?"_

"_HAHAHAHA!"_

Okay, maybe that wasn't the best idea.

'_Well, gee, Steph. You can just leave and watch Marky-Poo do his push-ups, then."_

"_No, no, I'll stay. I don't want to watch _him_ do push-ups. He probably doesn't even do push-ups. He just takes steroids to look fit. Personally, I think there's something to be said for natural muscle mass, don't you, Hawkface?"_

"…"

"_Anyway, as I was saying, you should really put some clothes on. What would Kitty say if she walked in right now?"_

"_You get that from your Grandfather?"_

"_God, Jason, I _so_ didn't need that mental picture. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little."_

"_You laughed at me."_

"_Drop this now, or I swear you will regret it."_

"_Are you going to punish me, Crazytop?"_

"_You better believe it, Hawkface. Remember how good I am at leg-wrestling?"_

"_I wouldn't be opposed to full-body wrestling right now."_

"_You perv."_

"_So, do you like what you see, Landry?"_

"_It's not too shabby."_

"_All for you, baby, all for you."_

"_Wish I could say the same, but I keep my exercising to a minimum."_

"_Oh?"_

"_Walking back and forth from your house to mine. All this is natural."_

"_Don't say stuff like that unless you're willing to follow the dress code."_

"…"

"…"

"_Keep on dreaming, Jason."_

"_I intend to, Crazytop."_

I shook my head and stood up. I had done enough push-ups for one night.

Now I _really _needed to take a shower.

* * *

I sat on my bed and wrote down my original plan for getting Steph to like me so I could see where I had gone wrong.

_1. Show Steph what a great guy I am._

_2. Casually mention other girls' interest in me._

_3. Secretly impress her._

_4. Ask her out._

_5. Live happily ever after_

Well, I guess I never really got around to steps 2, 4, or 5.

And maybe my attempts at steps 1 and 3 didn't work so well.

The doorknob twisted and the door opened.

I jumped up and grabbed a shirt.

And then I saw who had just walked in. It was not, as I had assumed, Grandma. It wasn't even one of my parents. And, unfortunately, It wasn't Steph.

It was Becca.

"Becca? What the—what are you doing here?" I whisper-yelled, because it was like midnight.

Dad must have let her in. He thinks that it's healthy for me to be around lots of girls so I will be "comfortable" around them.

I was going to have a talk with him about how that rule did _not_ apply to Farmgirl.

"Oh, your dad let me in."

And bonus points to Jason for being a mind-reader!

"I wanted to come over to discuss what happened at—the auction," she said, touching my bed. I glanced over at my List and was thrilled to see that it was mostly covered by a pillow.

For once in my life, the universe was working with me.

I sincerely hoped that it didn't want me to get together with Becca. Because that would never happen, not in a thousand years.

"I just want you to know," she continued, "that I understand. I understand why you did it. Bidding on me was so brave, and so…sexy."

She batted her eyes at me. My eyes widened.

This wasn't happening.

It couldn't be.

I opened my mouth to tell Becca just how wrong she was, but she shushed me and kept talking.

"I know that you might be embarrassed that your feelings were put on display in front of everyone—"

FEELINGS? WHAT FEELINGS?

"—and I totally understand that you fear the humiliation of unrequited love—"

With Steph, not with you, Becca!

"—but fear not, my love, because your valiant efforts are not in vain! I, too, have hidden my feelings for you because I have been scared. But you took a chance! And now we both can be together in the wonderous experience of teenage love!"

She looked at me expectantly.

"Well? Aren't you going to say something, Jason?"

I was still in shock. "Uhh" was about all I could manage to say.

"That's okay, Darling," she said, smiling. "You spent your money and offered your pride tonight, so it's only fair that I do the rest. Jason, I love you. I've been in love with you for a long time, and I never thought you would feel the same way. But you do, so—Jason, will you be my boyfriend?"

My eyes got even wider. I needed to stop this. "Becca," I began. "I don't know how to say this, but I'm not—"

But I never got to finish that sentence because she attacked my mouth. With her mouth.

Which I guess is her way of kissing.

It wasn't much of a kiss, to be honest. My lips were chapped, because I hadn't exactly been _expecting_ to be kissing anyone, and she didn't really know how to kiss, and there were no sparks or anything.

And then she tried to stick her tongue in my mouth, so I stopped that really quickly.

A light went on in the Landrys' bathroom, but I ignored it. No way could they see into my room.

"Becca! I'm not in love with you!"

Her face fell. "You're not?"

"No! I mean, you're nice and all, but it's just not going to happen. Stuckey, on the other hand, has a _huge_ thing for you, and yes, I know how that sounded, but I'm sorry if I'm a little freaked because not even five minutes ago I was alone in my room and now all THIS has happened!" I was breathing hard because I had just realized everything that had transpired.

"Stuckey?" she asked in a small voice, sitting down on my bed.

"Yes! He's been trying to get your attention for a long time."

"I—I never thought about Stuckey like that. Maybe…"

"Anyway, I'm sorry, Becca. But I don't like you like that. Friends?"

She smiled a little bit. "Friends. I meant what I said. Or, at least I think I did. But is this because you don't believe in soul mates?"

Should I tell her, or lie?

I thought she had been through enough, though. "Can you keep a secret, Becca?" I asked. She nodded. "I lied when I said that. I think…I think I've already found my soul mate. But she's in love with this popular guy, and…well, I don't think it's ever going to work out."

Becca looked at me and said, "Don't give up. People can surprise you. And if she has any sense, she'll see that you're better than any popular guy at Bloomville High."

"Thanks, Bex." I gave her a hug, and she let herself out. The Landrys' light was out again, and through one of their windows, I thought that I heard Pete yelling about something.

Maybe Becca was right. Maybe I shouldn't give up on Steph.

After all, she had surprised me before.


	19. Chapter 19

**This chapter is dedicated to Moonyong98.**

* * *

_Become irresistible to any woman._

How do you do this? It's simple: by doing what you love.

It sounds crazy, but it's absolutely true: If you do what you love—whether it's playing an instrument, practicing a sport, reading, or stamp collecting—you will be happy, and women, like the rest of society, can't resist a happy person.

Don't forget—girls can be shy, too!

And a happy, smiling guy is far easier to approach than a scowling or aloof one!

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

I let Mr. Taylor drive Steph and Becca to school again. Because of the whole Becca-kissing-me thing.

I figured they would talk it over and Becca would tell Steph what I had said, even though I had asked her not to.

And then Steph would realize that she was madly in love with me and tell me that she didn't want me making out with Becca, she wanted me to make out with _her_.

And, sure, I was being optimistic with what could happen. But if I wasn't, who would be?

Hope was pretty much all I had left.

I decided to let Stuckey deal with Becca all on his own for lunch, which earned me a fist-bump and a grateful "Thanks, man."

If they were happy and could make it work, then I was happy for them.

Maybe they could work it out at the wedding. Stuckey was invited because he was my friend, and Becca likewise for Steph. I had begged and pleaded with my grandma to seat me and Steph's families together (eventually caving and telling her exactly why I needed this, to which she replied, "Oh, Jasey, I'm so happy for you two!" like we were the ones getting married, even though this was _so _far from the truth. But if she wants to think that, who am I to destroy an old-ish woman's happiness?)

As far as I knew, Becca and Stuckey's families weren't at the same table, but I had no doubt that they could change that if they so chose.

Besides, it would deter them from bugging me and Steph and, hopefully, stop them from ruining The Plan.

So it was with these future possibilities in mind that I settled into one of the study carrels in the school library.

Hey, no one has ever accused me of being normal. Or popular.

And I'll have you know that the study carrels in the biography section are very quiet and peaceful, and I enjoyed my bag of Funyuns and Diet Coke more than I ever have there.

There's something about being surrounded by all those books, written about people who actually made a difference in the world, people who did these majorly great things, that just makes you feel so small, so worthless, so…insignificant.

And then you realize that those people had the exact same potential as you and you think to yourself, gee, why am I not them? Why wasn't I one of those kids who invented something cool, like earmuffs or trampolines or popsicles? Why haven't I done anything for my future but sit in the back of a boring classroom doing busy work and counting down the minutes till I'm out of this awful place, when Warren Buffet started investing money when he was twelve years old, and Bill Gates started writing computer programs when he was in high school?

What makes me so different from them?

I think this is the last day I'll visit the biography section. It's getting too depressing.

And speaking of depressing…

Alyssa Krueger walked in front of my carrel, looking over the top to see if it was occupied. She stopped when she saw it was me. "You're…Jas—hic—son, aren't you?"

I nodded, staring at her warily. The only contact I had ever had with Alyssa involved her and Lauren telling me to "get the heck" out of their way.

Only they didn't say heck.

"Well, I just—I mean, I wanted to—I'm sorry. For everything me and Lauren did to you. We were awful."

I nodded again, saying "Uh-huh" in a dumbfounded type of way. I still wasn't processing what was actually happening. Girls like Lauren and Alyssa don't _apologize_. And especially not to guys like me. I mean, they never actually did anything to _me_, personally.

Still it was kind of…nice, I guess. Hearing it.

And she really sounded sorry.

"Thanks," I shrugged.

She smiled in a small way and scurried off, (I assume) off to search for an open carrel.

And she must have, because five minutes later when I heard someone else walking around (and what was up with that, anyway? The biography section is supposed to be _abandoned and quiet_. That's the whole draw of the place!), Alyssa spoke up from the carrel a few over from mine. "Well, if it isn't Steph Landry."

I froze. Steph was…here? Why would she be slinking off to the library to eat lunch? She was finally in with the _popular_ kids after all, so why wasn't she doing jello shots of some guy's chest, or whatever the A-Crowd do that keeps them all giggly at lunch?

It just didn't make sense.

"Look, Alyssa. There's no sense blaming me for what happened between you and Lauren." What had happened between Alyssa and Lauren? "You shouldn't have written that note to me." What note?

"Lauren wrote it," Alyssa spat.

A letter that Lauren wrote to Steph? That would be priceless to read, in the sense that I would probably kill her after reading what she had written and who can really put a price on human life, really?

"I know Lauren wrote it," Steph replied. "You shouldn't have taken the blame for it. You should have told Mark the truth."

"Oh, right. And then Lauren and I could _both_ be eating in here, instead of the caf."

So Lauren had written some letter, and she blamed it on Alyssa when she got caught. Typical.

"If she were really your friend in the first place, she'd be in here with you now."

"I know," Alyssa said, now crying. "Do you think I don't know that? She's such a _bitch_." I've been saying that for years. "What am I telling _you_ that for? You know. You've been a daily recipient of her bitchiness for the past—what is it now? Since you spilled that drink on her?"

"Almost five years."

It was so gratifying to hear Alyssa being humbled.

"Right. And now look at you." Yep. Look at her. So adorable, but acting like the popular people were even worth her time. "Not what you have on!" That's my Steph. "Your social standing. I mean, I saw Mark Finley _kiss_ you this morning."

**WHAT?**

She wouldn't have….

She didn't….

No…

But I knew it was true. And I knew that I had lost her.

My vision got all blurry with tears. Not that I let any of them fall.

I had been _so close_.

But I wasn't enough.

"Yeah. On the cheek. Big Deal." But it was a big deal to Steph, I knew.

Mark was such a skeazeball. Lauren wasn't enough; he had to take Steph too.

I hate that guy.

"He likes you, though. Seriously. He told Lauren. He thinks you're _nice_."

And now Steph was headed for disaster.

"I _am_ nice. Well, most of the time, anyway." Except for that time she, oh yeah, _dumped her best friends to be popular_.

"I know. That's why Lauren's flipping out. Because you're making her look bad. In front of Mark."

"_Lauren's_ making herself look bad in front of Mark."

"And then when you did that thing last night, when you outbid her for him—I mean his sponsorship, for your bookstore or whatever. I heard her later, in the girls' room. She was practically frothing at the mouth, she was so mad She said she's going to get you, you know."

And knowing Lauren, she meant it.

"Oh, right," Steph answered in a muffled voice. "What can she possibly do that she hasn't already done?"

Lots, Steph. Lots.

You don't get to be the Ice Bitch of Bloomville High by playing it safe.

"I don't know. But I'd watch out if I were you. Because I'm her best friend, and look what she's done to me."

Steph spoke calmly. "Alyssa. You're only in this position because you LET her do this to you. If you'd just stand up and fight her—if everyone in this school would just stand up and fight her—"

We could all slay the wicked witch and sing a happy song. Anyone up for a few rounds of "We're All in This Together"?

"You're crazy." Alyssa had read my mind. "You know that, Steph? No one stands up to Lauren Moffat. Not even you."

Steph sounded more than a little pissed. "Excuse me. What do you think I've been doing all week?"

"That's not standing up to her. That's playing the game her way. And you know what? You're going to lose. Because she's going to find a way—some vulnerable spot you don't even know you have—to get you, to make you look bad in front of all those friends of yours. And then you're going to be right back where you started. You mark my words."

That was what I had been telling Steph the whole time. But would she really listen to Alyssa Krueger?

I doubted it.

Alyssa left the library, passing me once more, but she didn't say anything. Steph was quiet, too.

And then she saw me.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"Trying to find some peace and quiet. And, man, did I come to the wrong place."

"Why didn't you just sit in your car?"

"Because everyone knows they can find me there."

Steph took a few moments to digest that information. Maybe Becca had already talked to her.

Maybe she was doing one of those freaky girl things where they can summon the whole flock telepathically or something.

"She's right, you know," I said, meaning the whole Alyssa rant. "About Lauren. She's going to find some way to get back at you for buying her boyfriend."

Steph snorted. "Oh, please. Like I'm scared."

"You should be. She could make your life pretty unpleasant."

Steph looked at me really hard. "Jason, where have you been these past five years? What can she do that she hasn't already done?"

"That's what I don't understand." I offered her some Funyuns from my almost-full bag. Note to self: Eavesdropping takes up valuable eating time. "Why you even want to be friends with her."

"I don't."

"Then what's this all about? This whole…_thing_ this week?"

"I just want to be popular," she explained. Like that was a legitimate excuse.

"_Why?_"_ I asked._

"Because, Jason, my whole lifde—well, since sixth grade, anyway—I've been at the bottom. And now it's my time to be at the top."

I ate a Funyun. "Yeah, but what's so great about being there? You can't even be yourself." And I love _you,_ Steph. Not this fake, "popular" Steph.

"Yes, I can," she said defiantly.

"Oh, right. Because that's how your hair normally looks." Of course, this was the _one _day that Crazytop actually had a crazytop. "Well, okay, today you've gone all crazytop. But I mean the rest of the week—what does it take you, like a half hour to get it straight? Why do you want to be friends with a bunch of people who'll only give you the time of day if you have straight hair? What's so wrong with your old friends, who lo—" don't say it, don't say it "—ved you the way you were?"

Dammit.

"Nothing. But what's so wrong with wanting to have other friends besides you and Becca?"

I sighed. "Nothing. But _Lauren Moffat_? Or is it just her boyfriend you're trying to steal?" I'll admit, I said that last sentence with much more venom that I had intended.

She blushed. It was cute. "I'm not trying to steal him."

I almost burst out laughing right then. _Sure_, she wasn't trying to steal him. Girls totally kiss and spend a thousand bucks on guys they don't like. "Oh, you're not? You just spent a thousand bucks of your hard-earned cash on him for no reason?"

"No," she replied, stealing a Funyun. "You know why I did that. To bring business to the store."

"Oh, sure. And you don't have a crush on him."

"Right. Just like you don't have a crush on Becca."

What? Becca? Since when do I have a crush on Becca?

"Becca? Since when do I have a crush on Becca?"

"Well, you bought her."

Great. I was going to _murder_ Stuckey for not bringing his stupid wallet.

"Of course I bought her. What else was I supposed to do? Let her stand up there and be humiliated because only her dad was bidding on her? I couldn't very well let _Mark Finley _buy her."

Steph looked hurt and defensive. "What's wrong with Mark Finley? He's a really nice guy."

"Sure, if you like mindless clones who just do whatever their girlfriend—or you—tells them to."

"Mark's not like that! He—"

But I had heard enough. "Whatever, Steph. You know, Alyssa's a troll, but she's right about one thing. The only thing you're going to get out of hanging around the likes of Lauren Moffat and her golden boy is burned. And I just hope that when it happens, I'm there to see it."

With those inspiring words, I got up, grabbed what was left of my Funyuns and dignity, and walked away.


	20. Chapter 20

**WOW.**

**Thank you, everyone.**

**You are the best readers anyone could ever want.**

**I apologize for the wait; I think I'm going to add a little something to the end of the fic.**

* * *

_Are you dependable?_

Girls like guys they can count on.

Are you "there" for your friends when they need a helping hand, or maybe just a shoulder to cry on?

Do you pay back loans in a timely manner (preferably the next day)?

Do you arrive on time (or "fashionably late") for parties and other events?

Do you keep all promises and obligations?

These are the qualities of a responsible, caring person.

These are the qualities of a good boyfriend.

**Chapter Twenty**

I had planned to walk all the way to my car and finish eating my Funyuns there, but fate had different plans.

Because when I opened the door to the hallway, I saw…

Mark the Idiot.

And he wasn't alone. Little Miss Moffat was with him, as well as Bebe of the chipmunk voice, Todd "Stoner" Rubin, Ditzy Darlene, and the rest of Darlene's fan club (which was made up of mostly jocks on steroids and the odd druggie.)

They paid no attention to me, so I decided to watch the show. I walked into the hallway and leaned up against the wall. Alyssa apparently had the same idea as me; she was pretending to fill her water bottle at the drinking fountain while watching the group warily.

And then Lauren gasped dramatically and said "Oh, there she is!" when Steph walked out of the library, and I knew I wasn't going anywhere.

"God, Steph," Lauren continued. "We've been looking for you all over!"

"Yeah, how come you didn't come down to the caf for lunch?" Darlene asked.

Steph stuttered, "I, uh, had some studying to do. I have a chem quiz later."

I happened to know that, while it was true that Steph had a quiz fifth hour, chem was one of her best subjects and she had not studied for a test since October of sophomore year (a fact that she reminded me and Becca about whenever we told her to study for a test.)

"Bummer," said Darlene.

Lauren, however, grabbed a copy of the _Bloomville Gazette_ from Todd's unsuspecting hands, pointed to a picture of the new observatory on the front page, and said to Steph, "This guy right here, isn't her your grandfather?"

Steph looked confused. "Um. Yeah."

"So he owns this?" Lauren asked. "Right?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, he had it built. He's donating it to the city—"

"But he hasn't yet," Lauren interrupted her. What the hell was she getting at? "It's not open to the public yet, right?"

Oh. I got it.

They wanted to have a kegger in the observatory.

Perfect.

Steph obviously hadn't figured it out yet. "Right, not till next week—"

Lauren asked excitedly, "So it's empty?"

Shut _up_ already, Steph.

"Yeah." I really need to work on my psychic skills. "Well, I mean, there're workmen there—"

"During the day," Lauren supplied.

"Right…"

"But it's empty at night."

_Please _don't answer, Steph.

"Yeah. Why—?"

Lauren beamed up at Mark. "See? I told you. It's _perfect_."

The bell rang as Steph said, "Perfect for what?"

"For Todd's rager tonight. Normally, he has it out at the quarry, but it's going to rain all day and into the night, too. He was going to cancel it, but then I remembered that your grandfather was the guy who was building the new observatory and that it wasn't open yet, and that you could probably get us in there."

Big decision time, Steph. Popularity or family?

Todd finally spoke up. "You _can_ get us in, right? I mean, I know it's probably locked. But you have the key or the code or whatever, right?"

Steph replied uncomfortably, "Well—I mean, yeah, I do, but—"

"See? I told you!" Lauren said to Mark. "Steph, you're the best!"

I couldn't believe it. She was actually going to let them trash the observatory. Her grandfather's observatory. Grandma's observatory.

Steph was still stumbling, though. That was a good sign. "But—How many people are we talking about here?"

"Uh, just a hundred. Tops," Todd answered. "Well, maybe a couple dozen more. But seriously, Steph, my ragers are exclusive—invitation only. We'll post someone at the door, keep an eye out for the cops, the works. It's supposed to rain all night, so it's not like there'll be people out on Main or on The Wall, or anything. I swear, no one will even know we were there. All we need for you to do is open the doors for us around ten o'clock. That's it."

Steph was lost in thought for a moment, and I really hoped she would come back with something like, "No, slackers, I am not going to help you host your stupid kegger. And I am definitely not letting you into the observatory because it cost about two million dollars to make, and you trash everything you see. Also you are stupid enough without beer in your systems, and you would quite possibly destroy something valuable, such as a telescope or an imaging system, before you're even wasted."

But she didn't.

But she _did_ start to say, "I really don't think this—" before Mark the Idiot cut her off.

"Aw, come on, Steph," he whined. When a guy whines, it's kind of pathetic. But I guess Steph didn't think so, because she stopped talking and listened to him. "We'll be careful. You won't get busted. And if you do, well, I'll take the rap for you. I swear."

And Marky-poo always keeps his promises, I'm sure.

Steph stared deep into his eyes…and then muttered, "All right."

"Yeah!" Todd cheered, high-fiving Mark. Lauren grinned.

Darlene said in a dazed voice, "Wait, so…that means the party's on after all?"

"Party is _on_, baby!" Todd tried to make a move on Darlene, but she dodged it.

I would have laughed, but Steph had just agreed to the total destruction of her grandfather's pride and joy.

"Oh, good, I can wear my new suede pants," Darlene said, walking down the hallway. Todd followed.

Lauren looked at Steph again. "You're the best! I just knew we could count on you, Steph."

The bell rang again, and everyone walked off to their classes.

Except me. I waited for Steph to realize I was there, and then I said, just like Lauren had a few seconds before, "_I just knew we could count on you, Steph._"

And then I walked away, because I had nothing more to say to her.

* * *

**To my anonymous reviewer:** The "..." just meant silence. Sorry for the confusion.


	21. Chapter 21

_No relationship is perfect._

No matter how in love you both are, there are bound to be some disagreements. If one person always caves when these issues arise, the relationship will quickly fall apart.

The easiest way to win an argument is to avoid one in the first place. You can do this by showing respect for your significant other's opinions, even if you think she's wrong. Never say, "You're wrong." (And if you do happen to be wrong, admit it quickly!)

It's best to let her do most of the talking. Let her think your idea was actually hers.

The best negotiators try honestly to see things from the other person's point of view and express sympathy for others' ideas, opinions, and desires.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty One**

So now I had one more reason to hate Mark Finley.

It was _his_ best friend who wanted to hold the rager in the observatory. It was _his_ girlfriend who cornered and coerced Steph into getting everyone in.

And Mark Finley?

Well, he kissed Steph.

I drove home in a semi-blind rage. It would have been a fully blind rage, except for the fact that I actually needed to be able to _see_ the road.

I saved the blind part for when I was inside.

_How was I going to stop them?_

"I'm sure you'll think of something," Steph said.

Great. Again with the delusions.

"Yeah, this _is_ kind of weird. I'm sure they have pills or something for it."

Just what I need: a pill addiction on top of psychotic tendencies.

"So, Crazytop," I said, deciding to work with what I had. "How to you propose that I stop you?"

She thought for a moment before saying, "Jason, who do I love the most in this world? Besides you, of course."

"Um. I don't know. Your grandpa?"

"Yep. So do you really think I'm going to go through with it?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, then. Do you remember when we were in Little League together?"

"Yeah…?"

"Hit a triple with Mark Finley's head. I don't want them touching one thing in that observatory."

"Uh, I don't think I still have that tiny bat. But thanks for the suggestion."

"Well, you have to do _something_! What about—hey, didn't you go golfing with my Grandpa a few weeks ago?"

"Yes?" I didn't see where she was going.

"Use your shiny new golf club, Hawkface."

I smiled wryly. "Alright, and then what? Then what happens when I've maimed or seriously injured your new friends?"

"Then I come running back to your arms?"

"No, Crazytop. Then you yell at me and say you hate me and you never talk to me again."

She looked at me sadly. "I could never hate you, Jason. The last few days have been awful without you."

I walked over to my bedroom door and started to leave. "Bye, Steph," I whispered.

And then I left.

Grandma intercepted me on the way downstairs. She hugged me fiercely. "Oh, Jason. I love you so much. I am so proud of you!"

All this crying lately. Weddings really do that to people.

"Love you too, Grandma," I choked out, almost smothered by her hug. "Can't wait for tomorrow."

And I actually _couldn't_. Because tomorrow, all of this observatory/rager business would be over, one way or another.

Plus, you know, wedding day. Big happy fun time with the family.

She let me go, mumbling something about getting ready to go to bed, and I waved goodnight.

Then I went to the garage to find my completely unnamed golf club.

Well, okay, I named her. Sue me.

Her name is Bertha.

Well, Big Bertha.

But she's super solid and I had no doubt that she could take a nice sized chunk out of any A-crowder's head.

No matter how big his ego happens to be.

It didn't take me too long to find her, and I loaded her up in the back of The B (I really need to stop naming all of my objects after women, because the sentence "I loaded Big Bertha up in the back of The B" had some _serious_ issues), along with some other essentials, and drove off to the observatory to meet my destiny.

Or my doom, if you want to look at it that way.

I got there just as the last of the workmen were leaving.

"Hey, Jase! What up, man?" called Professor Reski, head of Indiana University's astronomy department, current overseer of all things Bloomville Observatory, and, strangely, a hippie.

"Not much, just wanted to…see the stars," I finished up lamely. Especially since it was only beginning to start getting dark.

The professor, however, saw nothing wrong with this. "I feel you, man. The stars are gonna be trippin' tonight. Who knows? You might even see a meteor or two; sometimes the meteor showers have a few stragglers. It might rain, though, so don't get caught in it, man."

I smiled, trying not to laugh. "Okay, sir."

Then the professor left and his grad students left and the decorators left and it was just me. All alone.

The observatory was huge and empty.

But most importantly, it wasn't trashed.

Yet.

I turned off all the lights, finding a place where I would be out of sight until the last possible second, which would give me and Big Bertha the element of surprise. I chose the telescope pier, because, well, I could see the night sky while I waited.

It might be the only time the observatory was used the right way. I owed it to Steph's grandpa.

Then, I broke out the Funyuns and waited for something to happen, checking for meteors every so often.

At exactly 10:34 P.M., I heard the code being tapped in and the door opening.

At 10:35, Steph walked in.

She didn't see me.

At 10:37, Steph started pacing and mumbling.

At 10:42, there was a knock at the door.

It was showtime or doomsday, but either way, it was happening. Now.


	22. Chapter 22

_So, now you know how to impress a girl and get on her guy-dar. But how do you know what to say when you're ready to pop the dating question?_

There are a few guidelines you should follow:

*Don't ask her at the beginning of your date. If you do, it may make her uncomfortable.

*Don't say "I love you." Most girls think guys freak out if they even _hear_ these words, and if you say them, your girl may think that dating you is a bigger commitment than it should be.

*Look at her when you ask her.

*Make sure she knows what you are asking. "Will you go out with me?" can mean many different things, and she should know that you are asking to be her boyfriend. "Will you be my girlfriend?" is about as direct as you can get.

*Relax! Do what feels natural; don't be fake. Your girl will appreciate it.

You'll have a great time, and your girlfriend-to-be will, too!

**Chapter Twenty Two**

Steph was frozen. Seeing as how she was only a few feet from the door, she had definitely heard the knock.

So why hadn't she let her friends in yet?

I gripped Big Bertha, ready to take aim the moment the door opened.

Another knock. "Steph? Hey, Steph, are you in there? It's me, Mark." Great. Mark the Idiot.

At least Big Bertha would have a nice hollow head to hit first.

"Open up, okay?" he continued. "It's raining pretty hard out here." Serves that skeazeball right.

"Oh my God, my hair," I heard Lauren complaining. "Steph! Steph, hurry up! We're getting soaked!"

And I had thought this wouldn't be fun!

"Man, this keg weighs a ton," Todd said, mumbling curse words.

Steph still hadn't moved.

What was going on?

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Um, y-you guys?" she called shakily.

"Steph?" Mark pounded on the door again. "Is that you? Open up, will you?"

She flinched. "Yeah, about that. I c-can't." Steph hiccupped.

She couldn't possibly mean—no way was she—Steph really wasn't going to go through with it?

"Can't what? Figure out how to open the door?" Mark asked, sounding more confused than angry.

He clearly had no idea what was going on.

"No," Steph replied, sounding stronger than she had been. "I know how to do that. I can't let you in. I'm sorry. I changed my mind. You can't have the party here."

I grinned. My grip on Big Bertha relaxed.

My Steph was back.

"Very funny, Landry," Todd bellowed. "Open the freaking door. We're getting poured on out here!"

Crazytop looked at the golden wall plaque that read "Commissioned by Emile A. Kazoulis and dedicated to Katherine T. Hollenbach-Kazoulis" as she answered him. "I don't think you understand. I'm not letting you in. You're going to have to take your party elsewhere."

There were two moments of perfect silence.

And then all hell broke loose.

I guess everyone decided to try and break down the steel door at the same time, and the observatory was huge and empty, so the blows echoed off the walls and down the hallways.

Mark started yelling, "Steph! Steph, come on! Joke's over! Open up!" while Lauren screamed, "Steph Landry! Open the freaking door _right now_!"

Steph closed her eyes and sighed.

The steel door, as threatened as it was by a few A-Crowders' rage, was unharmed.

Finally, the noise stopped.

"She's blowing us off," Todd said in a shocked tone. "I can't believe it. The bitch is blowing us off."

Darlene, though, was concerned. "Maybe something happened to her. Steph? Are you okay?"

Lauren was _pissed_. "I'll tell you what. Something's _going_ to happen to her on Monday. I'm goiong to make her wish she was never born. That's what."

Steph just shook her head. I noticed that her precious Mark said nothing to Lauren in Steph's defense.

I hate that guy.

Steph, though, didn't seem too crushed by this turn of events. In fact, she looked happier than she had since before school started. Well—not happier, really, it was more like she was…

Relieved.

I can't say that I blamed her one bit.

"Oh my God, I spent like all _day_ on my hair, and now it's being ruined because of that little bitch!" Lauren whined. "Do something, Babe?"

"What can I do?" Mark asked. "She's not gonna let us in. Here, let me—"

"Get your hands _off_ of my hair!" Lauren shrieked. "Now I need to fix this! What are we going to do?"

"I think that Bullard, kid—what's his name? Jay? Ray? Whatever—he said his parents were going to French Lick for the weekend, so we might be able to have the party there—"

"Whatever, can we just get _out_ of this freaking rain? Argh, I hate STEPH LANDRY!" Lauren screamed.

Steph didn't react to this news.

Finally, there was the sound of a lone keg being dragged away through puddles and concrete and the voices and noises slowly faded away.

And then it was just me and Steph and Big Bertha, alone in the observatory.

My shoulders slumped with relief. The worst was, hopefully, over. I patted Big Bertha on the head and carefully set her down on the ground next to the giant telescope I was next to.

Steph seemed to be deep in thought, but she wasn't crying or anything, which I took as a very good sign.

I let her stay like that for a little while, but eventually, I felt guilty and stalker-ish, because what kind of person hides in a dark room, watching someone who has no idea that they aren't alone?

Me, I guess. But only this one time.

So that's why I eventually stood up and said, in what I hoped was a soothing, non-confrontational tone, the only thing I could think of.

"Steph."


	23. Chapter 23

_It's the big moment._

You've prepared this for weeks, or months, or maybe even years.

You're going to ask her out.

Don't get nervous. This seems like one of those things that everyone says but no one really does, but getting rid of your nerves helps. Remember, most girls get just as nervous around guys as you do around them.

So take a couple deep breaths, be yourself, make her laugh, have fun—

And then ask her.

**Chapter Twenty Three**

Steph jumped in the air.

And screamed.

Loudly.

Oops.

"Whoa," I said, stepping into the reflected light from outside the telescope pier with my hands up. "It's just me."

"What are _you _doing here?" she yelled. Her face turned red.

She was so beautiful.

"Making sure you made the right decision," I shrugged. Might as well tell the truth.

"You mean—You were there the whole time?"

"I let myself in before you left work," I explained.

She looked really upset. "And you just sat here, in the dark with me _the whole time_, and didn't say anything?"

Ouch. So she was pissed about my semi-stalking.

To be fair, though, it was definitely a one-time thing.

"This was something you had to work through in your own," I explained. "Besides. I knew you'd do the right thing."

"Oh, right," she said sarcastically. "And if I hadn't?"

I grabbed Big Bertha from her seat behind me. "I figured Big Bertha here would drive them away."

Steph looked at me strangely. I _knew_ I shouldn't have named my golf club! I was such an idiot.

She sighed and leaned against the wall before sliding down to the floor. I slid down next to her and let her work it all out on her own again.

After what seemed like an eternity, I said, "Cheer up, Crazytop. You had a good run."

"All that work," she said, looking at the floor. "So much work. And all for nothing."

And then she started crying.

I'm not sure if it's a genetic or testosterone or manliness thing, but guys have never been able to deal with crying. We tend to freak out and end up either making the crier cry more or laugh at our stupidity.

So I just kind of patted her on the back, hoping she found it comforting and not creepy.

"Not for nothing," I said. Even though it was, of course. But Steph felt bad enough already. "You were the most popular girl in school—well, practically—for a week. Not many people can say that."

"It was a total waste of time and energy," she replied, still looking at the dark green carpeting. (Mr. Kazoulis had thought it would look like grass and remind the users of the observatory that they were still on earth. Go figure.)

"No it wasn't. Because it showed you that what you thought you were missing out on wasn't really all that great." I pointed out. "Was it?"

Steph shrugged. "I don't know. I was working so hard to get popular—and then stay that way—I didn't actually ever have a chance to enjoy it." She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. The tears kind of scared me. "I don't even know. I don't even know if I'd have liked it or not."

"Hey," I said softly, not sure if I should wipe her tears away. Nah, it might make her feel uncomfortable. "Hey. It's not worth crying over. _They're_ not worth crying over."

She sniffled and wiped away her tears, leaning her head back to look at the tiny lights on the ceiling, arranged to look like constellations. "I know." She laughed a little. "God. I can't believe they actually expected me to let them have one of their stupid ragers in here."

"Well, you had me fooled," I said, immediately cringing. The words had slipped out before I could stop them. "I really thought you were going to let them in."

She looked at me. "I couldn't do that to Grandpa. Or Kitty."

"It wouldn't have been a very nice wedding gift," I said, nodding.

Steph giggled. "I can't believe I blew my hair straight for them. For a _week_."

"You look better with it curly anyway," I said sincerely. She rolled her eyes, but I meant it. I mean, Crazytop is only a good nickname if your top really _is_ crazy. "Normaltop" doesn't have the same ring to it.

And Crazytop was perfect the way she was, curly-haired and jeans-wearing.

Although I certainly wouldn't complain if she wanted to wear her miniskirts around me.

Steph suddenly asked, "Jason, are you in love with Becca?"

I leapt away from the wall. Or, at least I would have if I wasn't sitting down. So I just kind of straightened my back and moved away from the wall in what I hoped was an indignant way.

What the heck was she talking about? Me? In love with _Becca?_ Where did she get _that _idea?

Oh, God. Becca must have told her about the kiss.

No, no. Becca wouldn't have done that; she was embarrassed enough as it was.

Then how…?

"_What?_" I asked, blinking. "What gave you _that_ idea?"

Steph looked like she regretted asking. "Well," she said slowly, "You _did_ buy her—"

"I _told _you why I did that," I reminded her. "Because I didn't want her to feel bad."

"Right. Because you love her."

And they said guys were the ones who missed everything. How did Steph miss the fact that I was in love with _her_, but still think that I liked _Becca_?

Girls. I would never understand them.

"Do I have to remind you what she did to my shoes?" I demanded, showing her my once-great, now-ruined Converse high-tops.

She stared at them. "Geesh!" I said.

Steph had one more thing to ask, though. "If you didn't love her, then why—," she took a deep breath and then rushed through the end, "—did you kiss her in your room last night?"

_Steph knew._

Well, there went my chance with her.

I guess I had always known that it wouldn't work. And, really, it was good that I was realizing it now and not later, because now I wouldn't spent the next two years pining after her.

Oh, who was I kidding?

I loved her. This was devastating.

"How do you—"

"I can see into your room from our bathroom," she said quickly. "Not that I ever look. Really. Much. It's just that last night, I was in there and I happened to look out, and I saw her—you—both of you. And you were kissing."

Well, at least Becca didn't tell her. My chances were now 1/1,000,000 instead of 0/1,000,000.

Wait a second…Steph was getting mad at me for staying by the telescope without telling her I was there. But she had been watching me for God knows how long from her bathroom window.

I felt shocked, violated, and a little flattered.

What a hypocrite. That's what made me most mad. She had made me feel so guilty. Steph had _yelled _at me for it, when she knew full well that she had been spying on me.

"Becca didn't tell you?" I finally asked.

"She didn't say a word. And I didn't want to bring it up," Steph said nervously. "Because—"

"Because you didn't want her to accuse you of being a peeping Tom," I finished her sentence.

Oh, God.

Naked push-ups.

Well, I'm never doing _those_ again.

"I wasn't peeping!" Steph insisted. "Exactly. I mean, Pete saw you, too—"

I groaned. "Oh, great! Your brother knows?" Pete had a reputation for blackmail.

"Yes, Pete knows," Steph replied. "I mean, the two of you were going at it right there in the window. If you had bothered to lower the blinds—"

"I don't have blinds in there yet, but you can bet I'll be getting them now. What else have you seen me doing in there?"

She didn't answer, but Steph started blushing bright red.

Great. So she _did_ see the naked push-ups.

I wasn't even going to hope she liked them.

"Nothing," she stammered, looking guilty. "I swear. So come on, what's going on with you and Becca?" Steph asked.

I closed my eyes and sighed, falling back against the wall. "Aw, geez." I just wanted to go back in time and keep Becca the hell out of my room. "Nothing, all right? She got the wrong idea—exactly like you did—about my buying her stupid scrapbook mentor thing. She came over—just showed up—and my dad let her in because, well, he's my dad. I was just lying there, reading, when she came in, and she was all…you know."

Steph just stared at me. "No," she said faintly. "I don't know. Becca was all…what?"

I took a deep breath and turned to look at her. Why did she want me to say it all out loud? She already _knew_ what had happened. "All lovey-dovey. She thinks—Jesus. She thinks I'm The One. _Her_ One. Her soul mate. And for the record, _she _kissed _me_. Not the other way around. I had to tell her—well, I had to tell her that she was barking up the wrong tree. I'm not the guy for her. No matter what she might think."

Steph was quiet. "Oh."

I rolled my eyes. "Why do you _think_ I was hiding out in the library today?" I demanded. "I was trying to avoid _her_."

"Oh," she said again.

"It's all Stuckey's fault," I moaned.

"Stuckey?"

"Yeah. He was the one who kept telling me to buy her." And now I was going to kill him.

"_Stuckey_?" I guess Becca really hadn't told Steph anything.

"Yeah. He'd have bought her himself. Only he—" I stopped explaining. Stuckey didn't want anyone to know about him and Becca until he and Becca happened. "—didn't have any money," I finished.

"Stuckey likes Becca?"

"I guess. How should I know?" I lied.

Steph wasn't buying it. "Well, wouldn't he have told you?"

I shot her a look. She was making this way more difficult than it needed to be. "Guys don't talk about that kind of thing with each other."

"Oh."

"Besides," I added, "You bought Mark Finley. Does that mean you're in love with him?"

Steph blushed again. "Obviously not. I mean, you saw me not letting him just now, right?"

"Well, you could have fooled me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steph asked angrily

"Just that, for someone who claims not to have been in love with a guy, you gave an awfully good imitation of it."

Steph was silent. Maybe she was thinking about my words. Maybe she was trying to find an esacpe route. Maybe she was trying to find the right way to let me down gently.

"Haven't you ever," she said slowly, "thought that you might be in love with someone, then figured out you were wrong?"

No, Steph. It's always just been you. "No."

"Ever?" she pressed on. "What about Kirsten?"

I looked down at my feet. "I don't love Kirsten."

"Come on." Why couldn't she just let this go? "Not even a little? Are you saying all those haikus in her honor were just for fun?"

I tried to get the unicorns off my high-tops one last time. "Exactly. Look, we better go. The wedding's tomorrow, remember. We gotta get up early to get ready for it."

I started to get up, but Steph grabbed my arm and I momentarily forgot how to breathe.

"Seriously, are you saying you've _never_ been in love?" she asked. "With anybody?"

I slid down the wall once more, sighing.

Well, this was it. This was the moment that I had been building up to my whole life.

This was the moment when I told Steph how I felt about her and she rejected me, once and for all.

I took a deep breath and began the speech I had been waiting to give for almost ten years.

"Remember in fifth grade when I kept pinching you and stuff and you said your grandpa said I was doing it because I was a little bit in love with you?"

Steph laughed, interrupting me. "Do I. You didn't talk to me for like a year after that. Until after the Super Big Gulp thing."

Now I had to improvise. It's funny, I had imagined this moment many times, but I never thought she would start talking before I was done. "That's because your grandpa was wrong."

"Um, that was fairly obvious, given the whole silent treatment."

"I wasn't a _little bit_ in love with you." I looked at Steph. "I was a _lot_ in love with you. And I didn't know how to handle it.

"I still don't."

There. I had said it. Steph didn't react—

And then her eyes went wide and she stared at me and I waited, waited for the rejection, but all she said was, "Wait."

And then she kept talking. "Did you just say—"

I remembered all the times we had spent at the Coffee Pot, and swimming at the lake and watching the meteor showers and riding down Main Street that one time with Becca in The B and wrestling and talking and sitting on The Wall and hanging out and laughing at the A-Crowd—

–and Steph.

I remembered Steph.

"Did you really just say you're in love with me?" she asked me.

I swallowed and nodded, getting ready for the final "goodbye." "Well. I guess I did."

And then, instead of yelling or laughing or leaving, Steph did something I never thought she would.

She kissed me.


	24. Chapter 24

"_Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up."_ ~Neil Gaiman

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Four**

I told Steph everything.

How I've loved her since forever.

How much I've missed her since she was popular.

How much I never want to let her go.

I actually had to pinch myself a few times, I was so sure I was dreaming.

Steph had a few confessions of her own.

"You got really hot when you went off to Europe." ("Don't take this the wrong way, Steph, but you were a hot second grader.")

"I've actually been—this is really embarrassing—I've been watching you. At nighttime. When you're in your room. I've been watching through our bathroom window with my pair of Bazooka Joe binoculars that we sent away for when we were nine." ("Really? Well, I've got to say, I'm flattered. Not many girls would sacrifice Bazooka Joe's innocence for their own purposes. But you do know that I'm now going to get blinds, right?")

"God, I'm so stupid. I really thought you were, like, in love with Becca." ("Becca? Oh, God. No offense, I know she's your friend and all, but she's seriously whacked sometimes. I'm trying to set her up with Stuckey, though. I think they're a great, strange match.")

"When I thought you liked Kirsten, I was so insane-ish. I was super jealous, but I didn't know it, and so I couldn't stand being near her at all. I mean, look at her elbows. They're all scaly and dry and cracked. I mean, _hello_, lotion. But it doesn't bug me anymore." ("Her _elbows_?")

"Do you remember that time I spent the night at your house when we were like six? I drank too much pop and I kind of had an accident. But Kitty saved me. She gave me, um, she let me borrow your underwear. They were the Batman ones. And I was a screwed up little kid, because I kind of liked it." ("I'm…not sure how to respond to that. Geez, I wore those until I was eight, and I never knew.")

And the last confession, the biggest surprise:

"So, you know how I got popular?" Steph was laying on my chest. Our breathing was all synced, slow and steady. I wanted to stay like that for the rest of my life; just me and Steph, alone. Together.

"Yeah," I answered.

She giggled. "Well, I—I sort of had this book. It was Kitty's but she said I could have it, and It was called, uh, _How to be Popular_."

Steph had had a book too?

"Wait, let me get this straight," I said. "You found some old book of my grandma's, and you thought it was your ticket to popularity?"

She twisted to look up at me. "Well. It worked, didn't it?"

I couldn't argue with that.

_How to be Popular_ was probably like _How to Get a Girlfriend_. Maybe they were in the same series.

I, however, doubted that I would ever admit that I bought a book called _How to Get a Girlfriend_. Sure, the tips were useful, and I _did_ get the girl, but Steph didn't need to know that.

"Some of the chapters were hilarious. 'How to Dress' and 'How to Act' and, oh yeah, this one is great: 'Planets orbit around the sun, but humans orbit around sunny people!' "

I bursted out laughing. "Well, with those topics, how could it have not worked?"

I guess my laughing was too much for Steph's head, so she sat up. "You laugh, but that book taught me a lot."

"Oh, right," I replied. "How to act like a big phony and drive all your friends insane."

"No, how to be the best you that you can be."

I looked down at her. "You already were the best you that you could be." I pulled her back down on me. "You didn't need any book to help you with that."

"I did," she said, her voice muffled because she was talking into my shirt. "Because if it weren't for the book, I'd never have tried to be popular, and if I'd never tried to be popular, I'd never have realized how I really feel about you."

My chest swelled up with a warm, happy feeling. I wrapped my arms around Steph in a hug and said, "Well, then we better take that book and get it bronzed."

I was only half joking. Because, really, both of our books had brought us together, after so long.

We stayed like that, all night long, just talking and laughing and making out.

It was everything I had imagined and more.

I loved her.

And she loved me.

Steph loved me.


	25. Chapter 25

"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." ~Theodore Geisel

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Five**

I woke up to someone poking me. Repeatedly.

I groaned and opened my eyes to see Steph, her hair all mussed, staring at me. "Jason. Jason, wake up. I think we're in big trouble."

I sat up immediately, almost hitting my head on a model of a dwarf star. I was in the observatory.

_Why was I in the observatory?_

Memories of what had happened last night came rushing back to me. I looked at Steph, smiling a little.

Or at least, I started. But then I heard someone—or rather, multiple someones— yelling Steph's name.

Crap.

I was dead. Dead, dead, dead dead dead.

Steph's parents would never let me see her again.

Grandma and Mr. Kazoulis would be disappointed in both of us.

THE WEDDING!

Oh no, crap, no, the wedding. It was today. We had been so busy, we had forgotten all about it.

I looked at Steph. She seemed to be having the same sort of realization. She sent me a panicked glance.

Mr. Kazoulis opened the observatory door and stepped inside. He saw us and called, "It's all right, Margaret. They're in here."

Steph was terrified. She grabbed my hand and sat down close to me. I made sure our hands were hidden and that we didn't look _too_ cozy. We didn't need to get in more trouble than we already were.

And then the yelling started.

Steph's mom was shrieking at us. "How _could _you? Do you have any idea how worried we've been? Why didn't you call? And Jason—your father's been checking hospital emergency rooms all over Indiana all night long. He thought you'd been in an accident!"

At the same time, Mr. Kazoulis was asking in a rather loud voice, "You really ought to have telephoned. What in the Sam Hill are you two doing here?"

Mrs. Landry sent us—well, mostly me—a scathing look. "I think it's pretty obvious what they were doing in here, Dad."

I thought this was a little rude, seeing as how we were fully clothed and hadn't even gotten close to doing _that_, but I figured it would have been a bad time to correct her.

"We just fell asleep!" I protested. "Honest. We were talking, and—"

"But why didn't you call?" Steph's mom asked in a strangled-sounding voice. "Do you have any idea how out of our minds with worry we've been?"

"We just forgot," said Steph, with obvious guilt written on her face. I wanted to hug her and make her feel better, but that would only make our situation worse.

"Well, you, young lady," Mrs. Landry said firmly to Steph as she pulled her to her feet—unfortunately causing our hand-holding to break—"are grounded. Maybe that will teach you not to _forget_ to call."

Mr. Kazoulis looked at me with a strange expression. "Your parents are going to be very disappointed in you, son. Your poor grandmother's been up all night, and today is her wedding day!"

Steph gasped. "Oh, Gramps, I'm so sorry. We just didn't check the time!"

"But what were you _doing_ here?" Steph's mom wanted to know.

Steph took a deep breath and got ready to talk, but I cut her off. "We were just looking at the stars," I said, hoping that no one would remember how hard it was raining last night. "And I guess we fell asleep."

Steph's mom blinked, her anger deflating. "The stars? Oh. Well."

Mr. Kazoulis turned to his daughter. "See, Margaret? I told you. They're fine. They were just looking at the stars. And they fell asleep. No harm done." He put his arm around her shoulders. "I told you this observatory was a good idea," he said, looking at me and Steph now. "Give the kids in this town something to do at night, instead of getting into trouble."

Steph and I exchanged glances. The observatory, and the kids who would have been in it, had almost gotten in a _lot_ of trouble last night.

Mrs. Landry shook her head, rubbing her forehead. "God, I wish I could have a drink," she said, staring at her pregnant stomach.

"Well, maybe at the wedding reception, someone'll slip you a glass of champagne," Mr. Kazoulis winked at her.

"Oh, Dad," she said, rolling her eyes. Then she remembered me and Steph. "Well, come on young lady," she glared at Steph, "Get in the car. I'm taking you home."

"Okay," Steph replied, sending a confused look to her grandfather.

He just winked and her, putting his arm around me. "Hey kid," he said. "Ever ride in a Rolls before?" I shook my head, and he led me to his car. "You can have shotgun."

My mouth dropped open in shock. "This…this is a blue 1933 model!"

He grinned. "Sure is. And wait till you see how she drives."

* * *

"So, do you mind telling me what you and my granddaughter were doing in the observatory all night?"

We had exhausted more than a few topics as small talk, and Mr. Kazoulis had finally decided to get into the heavy stuff.

I gulped. "We were just looking at the—"

"And don't tell me you were looking at the stars, because it was pouring rain all night."

Crap. "Well, Mr. Kazoulis—I mean, sir—I like your granddaughter. Really like her. Like-like her."

He chuckled. "I know, son. I've known since you were eight. Steph dropped her ice cream at the park and you gave her yours. Eight year olds don't just give up ice cream like that. So, did you finally tell her?"

"I—what—you _knew_?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yes," he answered.

"Yeah, I told her," I muttered.

"And…?" he pressed on, a twinkle in his eye.

"And, she likes me too," I said, not able to stop a smile from appearing on my face.

Hey, if you knew someone was in love with you, you wouldn't be able to stop smiling either.

Mr. Kazoulis grinned, too. "Wonderful!" he said. "But, son," he said in a serious tone, "I don't want either of you losing your heads over this. You are both decent responsible young people, and your grandmother and I don't want any grandchildren for a long time. At least ten years. Do you hear me?"

I nodded, turning bright red. I _really_ didn't want to get the sex talk from Steph's _grandpa_.

Thankfully, though, he seemed to be done. He pulled into his driveway and parked. "Jason?" he said before I left the car. I looked at him. "I give you kids my blessing. You're a good match."

"Thank you, sir," I said, meaning it.

Then we both went inside. After all, we both had a wedding to attend.

And in less than three hours, I would get to see Steph again.

Steph Landry, my girlfriend.


	26. Chapter 26

"I'm in love, I'm in love and I don't care who knows it." ~Will Ferrell as Buddy the Elf, _Elf_, 2003*

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Six**

After the whole our-grandchildren-are-missing-overnight-oh-my-God- where -are-they incident, Grandma and Mr. Kazoulis's wedding went pretty perfectly.

At least, that's what Steph told me. I'm not really sure.

All I know is, the bride and groom were both there, the rings were presented by Robbie without a problem, and "I do's" were said.

It wasn't as unbearably hot as it could have been; the rain made the weather nice.

Steph's parents showed up, which was shocking to her for some reason.

Also, Steph thought I looked hot in my tux.

Though I'm not sure why I found that surprising. I am, after all, an incredibly attractive person.

And Becca and Stuckey were apparently more than friends now, judging by the way they didn't let go of each other at the reception.

And the kissing. Lots of kissing.

When Steph and Becca went off to the bathroom, or wherever girls go to talk, I waited patiently for Stuckey to explain.

"Dude," he said, beaming. "It's been fourteen hours and I'm already rounding second."

My mind stopped for a moment so I wouldn't have to comprehend what Stuckey was doing with _Famgirl_.

I had already dealt with grandparents kissing today. There's only so much a guy can handle!

"Happy for you, man," I said when I regained normal brain functions.

"Thanks," he replied. "So, what's up with you and Landry?" He nodded toward where the girls had gone. "Is that like a thing now, or something?"

I grinned. "Hell yeah, it's a thing. It's awesome."

"Hey, man, we could all double date! We could go to a Hoosiers game!" He exclaimed.

Though I knew Steph and Becca would like nothing more than this, I had to decline. "Maybe we can all hang out at the Coffee Pot sometime," I suggested.

Stuckey looked a little bummed out, but said, "Yeah, I guess," anyway.

And then it was time for the bride and groom's first dance, then they danced with their children, and finally, it was time for the grandchildren's turn. While Steph and her grandfather were gracefully spinning to "Embraceable You"—well, okay, that was a lie. They were more like slowly shuffling around the dance floor—me and Grandma danced.

"So, Jason, I hear you were in the observatory with Steph all night?" She sounded curious, not disapproving, so I took a chance.

"Yeah, Grandma. It was great. I finally told her. Everything."

Grandma looked surprised. "So does this mean that you—you two—you are—"

"Yeah," I confirmed with a smile.

She gasped. "Oh, Jason, that's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!" She gave me a bear hug.

"Thanks," I said. "Congratulations to you, too. You just got married!"

Grandma got a little teary-eyed. "I know. This is just turning out to be a wonderful day, isn't it?"

And then she let me go so I could dance with Steph to "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You."

"So," I murmured as we slowly moved together. "How's your day going?"

"Wonderful. Amazing. Fantastic."

I chuckled. "Mine too, Steph. Mine too."

And then we danced.

And life was good.

* * *

Later, when Steph came back from the bathroom (I think it was an actual bathroom break this time, though), she looked a little tired. We _had_ been up all night, after all.

"Hey," I said. "Looks like things are winding down here. I could use a cup of coffee. How about you?"

"Nice idea," she said. "But I'm grounded, remember?"

I pointed to where Grandma and Mrs. Landry had been talking for the last forty minutes. "I don't think your mom's going to remember."

So we went up to them and Steph asked, "Um, hey. Is it okay if I go for a coffee with Jason? I swear I'll come home right afterward?"

Grandma smiled and winked as Mrs. Landry said, "Call if you're going to be out after ten."

And then we left together. Me and Steph.

Me and my adorable girlfriend.

* * *

*If you are unfamiliar with the film _Elf_, the line used as the chapter quote can be found at this link on YouTube: youtube watch?v=8V8tMK68M7U

I recommend watching the whole film if you have not yet seen it.


	27. Chapter 27

"We're all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love." ~Robert Fulghum

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

Everything was perfect; the way it always should have been.

I was driving The B. Steph was in the seat next to me. Becca was nowhere near us. We were actually cruising up and down Main Street, and we were enjoying it.

Well, okay, we weren't enjoying the _cruising_ as much as we were enjoying the make out sessions that commenced every time we hit a red light.

And someone was watching out for us, because we were stopped ten times at nine lights.

I wasn't sure how it had happened either, but I definitely wasn't complaining.

The way things were looking as we finally parked and left The B, Steph and I were going to need a _lot_ of coffee to keep things up the way they had been going.

Kissing doesn't seem like that big of a deal, but it really takes a lot out of you. We were both pretty worn out after our overnight episode (which was _completely innocent_, I remind you, but again with the kissing and the tiredness and the tongue-soreness), so we were in need of some immediate caffeine.

Fortunately, as Crazytop and I had discovered hours earlier, hand holding took no effort and still sent little euphoric shockwaves all over our bodies.

We liked hand holding.

Steph and I weren't staring deep into each other's eyes, or anything. We kept catching each other sneaking a glance, and I'm sure my grin was as big and as dopey as my Crazytop's.

Although on her it looked adorable.

There was a cluster of people around the ATM conveniently located outside the Coffee Pot, and it just so happened that they were my favorite people in the world.

Note my total sarcasm.

It was Mark and Lauren and Darlene and Todd and Alyssa and Sean.

I have to admit, seeing them killed my buzz a little. Steph's hand tensed in mine, and I knew they were getting to her too. I gave her hand a little supportive squeeze.

At least I hope she thought it was supportive. I'm not the kind of guy who just goes around squeezing people's hands for no reason, or anything. It's not a fetish.

Note to self: explain reason for hand squeezing when inside Coffee Pot.

Though I have to admit, I was pretty impressed with the whole lot of them. Not many high school students can get over the massive hangovers I imagine they had this morning in less than a day.

Bravo, bravo.

Lauren was the first to talk. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Steph Landry, the world's biggest party _wrecker_."

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, Lauren. Lay off her. You guys would have trashed the place, and you know it."

She looked at me like I was something gross.

Whatever, it's not like I enjoy looking at _her_ either.

"Um, was I talking to you, Big Nose?" she demanded.

Steph immediately tore her hand away from mine and balled it into a fist.

I bit my tongue (which was sore enough already and hurt quite a lot after the biting) to keep from responding to Lauren. I had a feeling that this was something Steph could and needed to handle on her own.

And I was so, so right.

"You know what, Lauren?" Steph was pissed. I was so proud; she was _finally _standing up to Lauren Moffat. "I'm sick of you. You and all of your phony bull." Only she didn't stop at "bull." "I made _one_ mistake—I spilled a drink on you—for which I apologized profusely AND got you a new skirt, and you _still_ had to hold it against me. For FIVE years. Not just hold it against me, but make sure everybody else in school did, too. And now you want to throw down with me again? Fine. But I'm warning you, that this time? You better bring it. Because there are a lot more Steph Landrys in the world—people who've made fools of themselves in public, people who don't have every hair perfectly in place all the time, people who don't have rich parents who'll buy them a new car every year—than there are stuck up beauty queens like you. And if you don't learn to get along with us, eventually you're going to find yourself leading a very, very lonely existence."

It was the best thing I had ever heard. Even better than one of the speeches in a book by one of those chick-lit authors that Steph was always trying to get me to read, or from that movie _Mean Girls_ that Steph dragged me to.

It was pure Steph, and it was pure gold.

And it really got to Lauren, too. Sure, she flipped her hair and pretended not to care, saying, "God, get off me, beeyotch. If I'm such a terrible person, how come I'm the one here with so many friends, while you're here with—that?"

Steph looked ready to hit Lauren, and I was ready to—well, I didn't really know, but I thought a catfight might be fun to watch.

Darlene quickly spoke up, though, before Steph could punch Little Miss Moffat. "Actually, Steph, I'm glad we ran into each other. There's a new Brittany Murphy in town, and I was wondering if you wanted to see it with me tomorrow."

I stared at Darlene. So did everyone else.

"Um. Yeah. Sure," my girlfriend replied. "I'd be happy too."

"Darlene," Lauren hissed. "What are you _doing_?"

"Making plans to go see a movie with a friend. Do you mind?" I had never heard Darlene speak like, well, a functioning human being before. She had always seemed so dumb.

Was it—no, it _couldn't_ have all been an act.

Could it have?

Alyssa Kruger shyly said, "Hey, is it okay if I come with you guys, too?"

Steph looked like she understood what was going on, but I was completely lost. "Sure, you can come," Crazytop answered, semi-smiling. "The more the merrier."

"Great," Alyssa beamed.

Lauren squeezed her way in between them and snapped, "Okay, what's going on here? Have you all been sniffing glue?"

"What are you guys doing now?" Darlene asked me and Steph, paying no attention to the annoying bitch next to her. She immediately gained my respect.

Maybe I had misjudged her.

I pointed to the Coffee Pot's sign. "Um, we were going to get coffee."

"Oh, yum!" she said animatedly. "I could totally use some coffee. How about you, Alyssa?"

"I love coffee," she responded softly. "Mind if we join you?"

I raised my eyebrows at Steph, hoping she had some idea of what was going on. She shrugged adorably.

"Um…" I said. "Sure?" I really hoped that was the right answer.

"Great!" Alyssa turned and opened the door to the Coffee Pot. Darlene walked in behind her. She turned back at the last moment and asked Sean and Todd, "Are you coming? Or not?"

Todd looked at Mark. "Sorry, man." He walked inside with Sean.

I looked down at Steph. She looked up at me. We smiled at each other. I held open the door and said, in a mock-posh voice, "After you."

The rest of…our group, I guess they would be called, were sitting at a table by the window. The Coffee Pot was pretty empty, but no one seemed uncomfortable.

Kirsten walked by and saw us standing there. "Oh, hello! The usual?"

I put my arm around Steph. "The usual," I answered. "And we're with them." I pointed at Darlene and Alyssa and Todd and Sean.

She raised her eyebrows. "New friends? And you tried to tell me you are not popular!"

And then Kirsten left to get everyone's orders. Steph wriggled out of my grasp and said, "Hang on a minute," despite my best attempt at puppy dog eyes.

I watched her leave. Then, I decided to go over to our table.

"Hey Jason!" Darlene smiled kindly.

"Hey, " I replied.

"So, are you and Steph, like, dating or something, now?" Alyssa wanted to know.

I grinned. "Yep."

"Good for you, man," said Todd. Sean flashed a thumbs-up.

And I have to say, I wasn't even really that surprised when I saw Steph walk in with Mark and Lauren. Because I knew that was just who she was. She was a nice person, and she kept giving Lauren chances to be decent too.

And who knew? Maybe this time, she would be.

Steph sat down next to me, leaning her head on my chest as I wrapped my arm around her again. I smiled.

Everything was perfect.

* * *

A/N: Just the epilogue left now! Be prepared for a _big _ Author's Note at the end of that :)

Thanks, everyone. This has been more fun than I ever imagined it would be.

~IceCreamGurl6455


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